Saving the Fox VI: El Zorro en Problemas
by Therrae
Summary: NWZ. AU. If Diego had been Zorro, he almost certainly would have been better at it. Gilberto tried not to think about that.
1. Jan 6, 1814

_As always, I own nothing and I make no profit. However the people who DO have put out the DVD in region 1, and I am very thankful. This chapter is dedicated to everyone who made the release possible. And - ooh! Hey! My copy has been shipped! :) To celebrate, I'll publish a chapter a day until it arrives. _

**Jan 6, 1814**

Cold. Felipe was so cold. He curled in on himself and pulled the blanket tight - And realized _why_ it must be so cold. Diego.

Shivering, Felipe scrambled to his feet and wrapped the blanket around his shoulders. The window was open. In the darkness he could make out the shape of Diego, sitting up but quiet, not struggling.

"I'm all right," Diego said softly. "It wasn't a spell. I just needed some fresh air."

Felipe pulled the window shut and went to the wardrobe for a couple of extra blankets. He covered Diego with one. If it had been light enough to see the words, he would have said that catching a chill would strain Diego's heart more than 'stale air.' But it _was_ dark, and Felipe was still too sleepy to quarrel. He sat in the big chair and pulled the second blanket over himself.

"I'm sorry about the cold. If you wanted to go back to your room...I'm not sick enough to need a guard every night."

Felipe counted. Eight days since the last bad spell. Eight? Yes, really. But he wasn't leaving. Felipe shook his head.

"Light a lamp, then. It's close enough to morning."

Felipe lit the lamp. The warmth was lovely on his hands. In the light he checked Diego's color, just to be sure he was all right.

"Did you remember to leave hay in your shoes last night?" Diego asked.

Felipe grinned and shook his head. "I'm not _such_ a little child."

Diego pretended to look regretful. "It's just as well," he said. "Your present wouldn't have fit in your shoe."

Felipe's brows rose. "A present for me?"

"It's here, under the bed," Diego pointed.

Inexplicably shy, Felipe hesitated.

"Go on," Diego urged gently.

Bunching the blanket around his shoulders, Felipe crouched down and felt under the bed. He found something at once: Long and hard and wrapped in cotton cloth. Carefully, Felipe scooted back into the light and unwound the covering. For a long moment he could only stare. It was a new musket, smoothbore, imported at least from Mexico.

"It's a fowler," Diego said softly. "I thought we could go hunting. I think I'm well enough to give it a try."

Gulping, Felipe looked up. "Hunting? You and me?"

"Well...Father or Gilberto will surely insist on going, too. But still - "

"No, that will be fine," Felipe protested. "It's wonderful. Thank you!" He ran a finger along the silken wood of the stock. It shone like gold. "It's very extravagant."

"It isn't. What do I spend money on? Books and clothes and chemicals." Diego shrugged. "We didn't get anything like this until we were fifteen, but you have much more responsibility than we did. It's a reasonable gift."

Felipe gave him a dubious look.

"It's true. With what we got up to, do you think Father would have trusted us armed and unsupervised? But you are very serious and careful." He pulled the blankets up around his shoulders. "I admit...I did want to spoil you a little. I never meant for you to have a hard life."

What a thing to say! "A hard life? _I_ don't have a hard life. The sergeant in town - he is an orphan, you know. Raised in an orphanage. He is alone. He has no family. And Victoria? Her father went off and got killed and her brothers _left_ her."

"And even great burdens are not so terrible if you are alone?" Diego asked.

Felipe looked down at his hands. Then he said, "Anyway, I don't want an easy life. Just a good one."

"Forgive me. I don't understand."

"Zorro doesn't have an easy life. And he isn't a saint - he is only Gilberto. But he is accomplishing something important. Something worth doing."

"Ah." Diego nodded. "Yes. Something worth doing, indeed...as sad as it is that the pueblo needs Zorro." He paused. "Felipe, do you still dislike him so much?"

Felipe shrugged a single shoulder. "He's so selfish. And so impatient. And so snooty. But he isn't mean anymore. And maybe he was never as rotten as he could have been."

"He shouldn't have been rotten at all. Wouldn't have been, if I could only have made him understand."

Felipe shook his head. "You couldn't _make_ him be reasonable." And then, because that was ungenerous, "He's changed, though."

"He really hasn't," Diego protested.

"He _really_ _has_. Being very afraid of something, something real...it gave him perspective. It made him grow up. He doesn't have time to be petty anymore."

Diego shook his head. "I think Zorro has more to do with that. As Zorro he has...more power than he ever wanted and responsibility he can't look away from. I admit it has settled him. But his nature hasn't changed."

There was no point in arguing about this. Diego couldn't believe the worst of his brother, not even in hindsight. And he shouldn't. Gilberto was more than kind and patient with Diego. He was calm and encouraging when Diego was afraid and exhausted from a bad spell. He was amazingly good at pausing to fiddle with something when Diego needed to rest and get his breath. For Diego he was brave and steady in the face of what scared him most. He protected his family and comforted his father and kept track of all the pueblo's problems too. "I don't dislike him anymore."

They sat and talked until it was time to get dressed for church. When they came into the main part of the house, the table was set with only one place: atole and sliced melon for Diego.

"I would rather not," Diego said.

Felipe shrugged. "Might as well. Your father will make you. Anyway, you have forgiveness for it."

Diego sat down, but didn't touch the food. "It doesn't help. If I get faint...eating won't stop it."

"It's the kneeling that's the trouble. You could talk to Father Benit - "

"I do not want a dispensation for that, too!"

Felipe sat down across from Diego. "Small, regular meals. Every day. No exceptions."

Diego ate. Reluctantly and with a show of bad grace, but he ate. Gilberto came out in a few minutes and kept them company until it was time to leave for church.

When they arrived in town, the square was packed with people. Although it was nearly time for the service, no one seemed to have gone inside. Everyone stood in small groups, talking urgently.

Don Alejandro said something very softly. Felipe thought it might be a profanity.

"I wonder what's going on?" Diego asked curiously.

Pepe and Juan saw them and hurried over. "Patron, Patron!" Pepe shouted. "Zorro has attacked the mission!"

Diego laughed. "I don't think so. What would that accomplish?"

Gilberto rolled his eyes. "Never mind why, how would he do it?"

"It's true," Juan said, taking off his hat and squinting into the light. "Zorro has attacked the mission." His report was more coherent than Pepe's but just as absurd. Since the vineyard was several miles from the mission proper, there was a tiny settlement out there where a couple of families of neophytes lived year round and took care of the vines. According to reports, Zorro had attacked the cluster of adobe huts last night, breaking things, stealing some food, nothing of value - they hadn't_ had_ anything of value. "We can't think, any of us, what Zorro could be angry at out there."

Gilberto took a breath to speak, but froze as Diego's fingers slid around his arm and clamped _tight_. "Why do they think it was Zorro?" he asked curiously.

Juan blinked at that. "Well, they saw him, Don Diego. And there are Zs all over everything...they say..." He paused, thinking. "Half the town is demanding to know what those particular neophytes could have done to bring down Zorro's wrath - or even if it was the friars somehow...and the other half is calling for Zorro's head because he has gone insane."

Don Alejandro hopped down from the carriage. "All right. Enough of this. It is a holy day. We are going to church. We are not going to stand around and speculate on gossip." He said it loudly enough that the people nearby could hear. When he swept toward the church, his own people all followed.

He paused at the church steps where the alcalde was pontificating on the evils of the outlaw Zorro to a merchant, the blacksmith and a very grumpy Don Roberto. "Good morning, Senor Alcalde!"

Surprised, Ramone lost his train of thought and blinked. "What? Oh. Good morning."

"Good morning, Alejandro," Don Roberto said quickly. "Shall we all go inside?"

Right after that the rest of the crowd began to trickle in.

Throughout the service, Diego kept a hand on his brother's arm. Quelling. Reminding. Reassuring. Gilberto - poor Gilberto. He was all but quivering. When the service finally ended he turned to Diego and said, "You're pale. I should take you home."

Diego smiled and said briskly, "Nonsense. I feel fine. You know this mild weather agrees with me. The Lady's Guild has made tamales for the party. I want to stay for a while." Outside, though, he pulled his brother aside and whispered, "You want to come charging into town and - What? Challenge Ramone? Demand an explanation?"

"You know it's him!"

"Quietly, quietly. Of course it is. So what? Half the lancers weren't in church and they're not out combing the countryside, they're on the roof over there...and there, by the livery. It's a trap. Tonight: in the darkness, with proper precautions and reconnaissance, and maybe a diversion waiting in case you need help getting away."

Gilberto pulled his arm free. "I can't - " he began.

"What is more trustworthy? Me or your temper? It's your temper he's counting on. You know it is." He put his hand on Gilberto's arm again, this time it seemed to be for balance. "Here is a better idea: that little steading, we need to see what happened there. In the spirit of the Day of the Kings, surely it is appropriate to take them some supplies, those poor people! food, blankets, nails, sweets? I don't know. I'll speak to Father. Just be sure you go with them."

Gilberto sighed. "And why not you?"

"Because I will be here finding out what Mendoza and Victoria have heard. And because when I'm done I will go back to the house and prepare a little surprise for tonight. In case you need it."

Don Alejandro seized on Diego's idea. He made such a fuss of it that the Alcalde - for all his protests that surely the mission could take care of his own - was shamed into chipping in a sack of meal and some blankets in the spirit of 'civic goodwill.'

Diego let Victoria go on for a long time about Zorro, alternately blaming the alcalde for some kind of trick and worrying that Zorro might really be up to something obscure. After a while he began to steer the conversation...but his topics seemed random and Felipe couldn't guess where he was going with any of it.

With Mendoza Diego was much more direct. Even as he handed over a cup of wine he was asking why, if Zorro had attacked the mission, all the lancers were skulking around town instead of out looking for him.

"But Don Diego, surely he will attack town next!"

"Why? Have our taxes been raised recently?"

"Well, no. But the alcalde says..."

"What _does_ the alcalde say?"

Mendoza shifted is feet. "He says...that Zorro will attack the town. I don't know why. It all seems very odd to me," he added miserably. "What did the mission ever to do to Zorro? Or some little neophyte Indian families?" He shrugged. "But if he is attacking them, he might attack us for no reason. I guess."

They returned home while the picnic was still going on. Diego slipped down to the cave, but he was finished in the lab before Felipe was finished currying and feeding Toronado.

"What is it?" Felipe asked.

"Three bundles, linked explosives. These are long fuse, these are medium fuse, these are short fuse."

Felipe grinned.

Diego threw an arm over Felipe's shoulder and tucked him close. "I think you like explosions a little too much."

"Everybody loves a big noise."

"Oddly, that is true. I would love to make some fireworks...but it would be a bad idea to advertise the fact that explosives have become a hobby of mine."

"_So_ disappointing..." Felipe was laughing, but he meant it.

It was late afternoon before Gilberto and Don Alejandro returned from their visit to San Gabriel's vineyards. Don Alejandro only paused at the hacienda for a few minutes before continuing on to Don Sebastian's.

Gilberto also wanted to go back out immediately, but Diego would have none of it. "Black," he murmured darkly, "is only an advantage _at night_."

"You can't possibly expect me to just sit..."

"No, I don't expect that. Go out to the courtyard, take Felipe with you. I'll be right there."

When Diego appeared a few minutes later he was carrying two swords. He tossed one - so neatly, so casually - to Gilberto, who caught it and promptly set it down. "No. Absolutely not."

Diego rolled his eyes. "Not for me. For him. You're teaching him."

Gilberto blinked in surprise and looked at Felipe. "Is that wise? If he knows _how_, he may think it is necessary _to_."

"I'm not suggesting he carry a sword. But in this family...It is a skill he's going to need someday. When someday comes...he must be brilliant."

"Flattery, distraction..."

"True, though," Diego said gently. "All of it. I do need you for this."

Felipe looked from one to the other, holding his breath.

"Gilberto, you know I would do this myself if I could."

"And guilt. Nicely played."

"You cannot go tearing into town."

Gilberto closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Felipe, come here. No, leave the sword. We are not nearly there yet. First we must talk about your feet. Yes, how tedious, I know. But it will be a while before we get to the fun part and start waving the sword around. This is going to be tedious, you know. Horribly dull. You might not last the first lesson."

Felipe lifted his chin. "I am more patient than you are."

"True, actually. Hm. Perhaps that will help. Stand here. Your feet, not so close together. Balance is key. You'd be surprised, waving a heavy metal baton around, it's easy to knock yourself over."

"Can you - "

"That is a habit we must create at once." Suddenly, Gilberto was serious. "During lessons you must not talk. When you are dueling, you will not be able to talk. You must get into the habit, it must become automatic, it must never _occur_ to you to have a conversation once you have drawn a sword."

Felipe wondered if Gilberto was being an ass or if this was a test to see if he would follow orders.

"I'm quite serious. No hesitation. No extraneous movement. No confusion or question, _ever,_ about what your hands are for while you are engaged."

Oh. That was...that was convincing. But. But.

"Can you fingerspell with your left hand?" Diego asked suddenly.

Felipe lifted his left hand and spelled out, "Badly." It was awkward and a hair slow. He didn't like the manual alphabet and never had, and it was worse with his off hand.

Gilberto nodded. "Yes. All right. It will be better if he can ask questions." He picked up the sword he had set aside. "You are facing someone with his weapon in his hand. And so your right hand is not for talking. Ever."

Felipe nodded. He spelled out, "I promise," to make the point.

"All right. Let's begin. Your feet. Bring your right foot half a step forward."

The lesson continued for most of the afternoon. Although Gilberto never put down his practice sword, Felipe didn't even get to touch his. It was all _toes forward_ and _shift your weight_ and _don't cross_ and _not so large_. Tedious, Gilberto had been right.

But every time Felipe had looked over at Diego who was seated in the sun, Diego had looked pleased. And, of course, even a tedious lesson in swordsmanship from Zorro was _still_ a lesson from Zorro. Felipe could tell his grandchildren someday. Shame he couldn't tell the boys in town about it. Or Pepe. Or...anyone.

A little after sundown Don Alejandro returned to join them for supper. "So?" Gilberto asked. "What news?"

"The men of California are disorganized and quarrelsome, but that isn't news," he answered sourly. "Although in this case...if they could accomplish anything, they would no doubt make the situation worse. Don Emilio - the Pascal boy - he was trying to gather a search party to hunt down Zorro."

"How did you talk him out of it?" Diego asked.

"I? That young hothead will not listen to me. His father never could control him. But no, Sebastian managed to confuse the issue enough to halt any coherent action."

"Oh?" Diego asked.

"Yes. He is convinced that it isn't Zorro who attacked the mission, but one of the wild natives with a plan to cause conflict in the pueblo."

"That's mad," Diego said.

"Well, yes. But you know how he is when he gets a strange idea in his head."

"They aren't always such strange ideas. This one seems reasonable enough," Gilberto said. "Whoever attacked the vineyard, it wasn't Zorro."

"A wild Indian?" Diego asked indignantly. "Are we just pulling explanations out of a hat now? The local Indians aren't fond of horses and they do not ride like Spaniards. Was the horse that attacked the mission shod? Was a sword involved in this adventure anywhere? It takes quite a while to learn to use one of those, I hear."

"Oh?" Gilberto asked irritably. "So you think Zorro did it?"

Diego laid his fork aside. "Don't be stupid." He sat back in the chair.

Don Alejandro gave Gilberto a quelling look and said softly, "Diego? Are you all right?"

"I am quarreling myself into indigestion," he answered. "Shall we talk about something else?"

"Those orange trees I've had my eye on aren't coming back. I think it's time to give up and replace them."

Gilberto nodded. "How many are there?"

"Almost a dozen. Not many, actually. I thought I might put Diego in charge of that. He was always good with trees."

"Certainly, Father."

"Better him than me," Gilberto added. "Give me cattle any day, but trees..."

Felipe couldn't help noticing that Diego didn't eat anything else. While he looked uncomfortable, though, he didn't look ill, so he didn't say anything. No one was surprised when, at the end of the meal, he complained of a little dizziness and asked Gilberto to give him a hand to his room.

He let Gilberto settle him in the chair and pull up the footstool. "Stay a moment."

"Diego, I have waited all day."

"And you will have to keep waiting until Father goes into his office. Anyway, we need to talk."

Gilberto folded his arms. "Very well."

"You should take Felipe with you. This is certainly a trap."

"I can get past the lancers in the dark. Besides, a large diversion so close to town, that will frighten everyone for no good reason."

"Well, what then? You know they'll be waiting."

"For a start, I thought I'd let the horses out of the livery stable. A little chaos goes a long way."

Diego smiled slightly. "Not a bad start, at that. Senora Reyes' pigs as well?"

"Oh, that's right. She has quite a few now."

"But getting in is not getting out. He lost you last time. He will take no chances this time."

"He didn't take chances last time. I was just better."

"Yes. You were. You are. But you are arrogant - " he stopped and took a deep breath.

Felipe went to the desk and began to prepare the evening medicine. It was a couple of hours early, but he didn't like Diego's color.

Gilberto had seen it, too. "If I take Felipe, you'll be alone. You're not feeling well."

"I felt worse than this most of the day most days last summer. I'm fine." He shifted restlessly. Felipe suspected that he wanted to stand up and open the window, but that would be too revealing. "You think you're going to search his office. You're not. He knows better by now...if there is anything incriminating, he'll be carrying it on him. ...Victoria has three guests, all of them men, all of them traveling alone, so nothing is narrowed down. You're searching their rooms. If you don't think you'll need the second distraction, you can work out a signal between you. Or - here. My watch. Forty minutes or so should be enough time. He can hold the explosives until you're late." He took the cup Felipe handed him and drained it with a show of compliance. "I'll wait here. Right here."

So. What could they do? They went.

Z

"We'll meet on the west side of town, down in that dry wash. I'll carry the 'distraction' - I don't want you caught with them if you come across a patrol," Gilberto said as they descended into the cave. "Although...probably there won't be one. They want Zorro to come _into_ the trap and they aren't subtle."

They worked out the details while Gilberto changed and Felipe saddled Toronado. The horse was affectionate, nuzzling his hand shamelessly and begging for turnips. Zorro, taking the reins from Felipe, nodded his approval but hesitated before leading the horse from the stall. "Do you think he's all right? Really?"

All right? As adept as Diego had become at ignoring and compensating and coping and enduring, the inescapable truth was he wasn't all right, and he wasn't ever going to be. But Felipe didn't say that. Instead, he said, "He'll behave himself. He'll sit and wait until we get back."

It was going to be another cold night. Felipe took a jacket along with the matches and covered lantern and rode out on Sunshine. He kept to the road - no point in engaging in suspicious behavior before it was necessary. _If_ there were patrols and _if_ they stopped him, well, he was only the damaged servant of the de le Vegas, the one who looked after the invalid. Maybe he was going to town because they'd run out of medicine. In any case he couldn't talk so he couldn't explain his errand any more than he could be up to anything dangerous.

The night was cold, and Sunshine didn't like it. Felipe wasn't fond of being cold either. But he did like sneaking out with Zorro, he really did. He made a wide circle around the pueblo and settled himself behind a rocky outcrop in the wash. He lit the little lantern and hid the light and settled in to wait. Zorro left before him and rode faster, but he might not stay to the road and he would surely scout the town before giving Felipe the explosives and finalizing the plan.

He was squatting with his back to the rock and his hands cupped around the warm lantern when Toronado, as silent as a shadow, came up the wash. Zorro dismounted so he could speak softly as he handed over the bundle of little explosives. "Diego was right. They are watching the cuartel. But listen, I think I want more time. Two hours. And I am leaving Toronado with you. At...one o'clock, set the medium and long fuse distractions and head around to the north of town. When you are above the church, send Toronado toward town and ride straight home."

"What about the short-fuse explosives?"

"Don't - no, wait. Give them back to me. They should contribute to the chaos nicely." And with a wave he was gone, on foot for the quarter mile back to town.

It was a long, quiet wait. Cold, too. The sky was clear and the stars were bright. It had been over a month since the last astronomy lesson, and the stars had moved a little. Felipe kept himself occupied finding different constellations, trying to figure out of that bright star was Mars...

He checked the watch every ten minutes, and at last it was time. He set the distraction and led - as quickly as he carefully could - north along the wash. He was just leading Sunshine and Toronado up the bank when the first series of sharp explosions ripped through the quiet darkness behind them. He swung onto Sunshine's back as soon as the reached the flat stretch and headed for the north side of town. He kept the dark horse between himself and Los Angeles.

There was yelling. Dogs barked. Lights flashed. A frantic burst of riders ran west, toward the noise. A few minutes later another burst rode out for the east. Odd. Perhaps they were suspicious of the noise. Well. The long way home, then.

Felipe urged Sunshine faster and turned into the fallow vegetable garden that belonged to the parish church. He couldn't see any people moving from here, but he slowed his approach anyway. He would release Toronado on the other side of the gate -

Toronado tossed his head suddenly, skipping uncertainly. Felipe released him at once: the recall whistle, though he hadn't heard anything. Toronado raced across the soft ground and leaped the low fence. So. That was done, then. Felipe turned his face toward the north-east and watched for a trace of movement. Now to choose the best way home...

He was less than a mile from the pueblo when he heard the third set of distractions, the short fused ones, go of somewhere behind him. That engendered another round of yelling and dog barking and points of moving light. Felipe swung far to the north before turning Sunshine's nose toward home.

It was late - dark and so cold that his breath was clouding - when he got back to the barn. Sunshine needed rubbing down and reassuring. When he had finished bedding him down Felipe slipped quietly into the house.

Diego was still awake, sitting up in bed with a single candle. Gilberto was with him - wearing house slippers, Zorro's pants and an unbuttoned cotton shirt. Felipe hurried to the other side of the bed and sat on the edge, but he could already tell Diego wasn't sick. He'd spent countless nights sitting up with suffering and countless nights sitting up with worrying and he could tell the difference. "I'm sorry I'm late." He said (broadly, because the room was very dim).

"You were being careful. I approve of that." But he sounded weary...

There was no use dwelling on that, or letting Diego know Felipe had noticed. "So?" he demanded, turning to Gilberto. "What did you find?"

"I will tell you tomorrow. No, don't argue. Dawn is in less than five hours and Diego hasn't had any sleep. Tomorrow after breakfast is soon enough. I'm going to bed." He was pleased and smug, so it was surely good news.

_~tbc_


	2. Jan 7, 1814

_Many Thanks to senselesswords, yet again, for her marvelous help with titles!_

**Jan 7, 1814**

The next morning was cold and grey, and everyone slept a little late, even the rooster. While they dressed, Diego conveyed what Zorro had learned the night before. The Zorro imposter was indeed one of Victoria's guests, an elderly peddler who was not nearly so old as he looked. "The next part is more delicate. We must not only stop the culprit, but publicly expose him and make it publicly clear that he is not the original Zorro."

"What will you do?"

"At the moment I have no idea."

Although the day was cold and damp and overcast, there was no question that the family was going into the pueblo for lunch at the tavern. The twins let their father ride a bit ahead so they could continue the argument that had been - quietly, in little bits - going on all morning.

"He is damaging my reputation."

"Zorro's reputation, not Gilberto's," Diego reasonably.

"Mine just the same! And one I've worked very hard on."

"You're taking the limited view - "

"It would be simple enough to confront him and remove his disguise. I could make it very dramatic - "

Diego feigned surprise. "Really? You?"

"Oh, stop. This isn't a joke!" He spoke loudly enough that Don Alejandro looked back.

"No, it's an opportunity. If we can tie this imposter to the alcalde, this may be our chance to be rid of him."

Gilberto stilled. "What are you thinking?" he asked gravely.

"I don't know yet. It may not even be possible. Or, perhaps, not possible this time."

"If we can get the fraudulent Zorro to confess..."

"Neither governor nor judge would ever hear it. We must have evidence, produced in front of witnesses, rich witnesses, if possible, so their complaint will carry weight."

z

Though it was early for lunch and not even a market day, the tavern was quite full. No one wanted to work on such a cold, miserable day. Everyone who could help it had come in to town to sit in the warm and gossip.

The talk was divided between the weather - if it actually dropped to freezing, what remained of the orange crop after the dreadful summer would be lost - and the latest problem with Zorro. Apparently, the night before he had snuck into the city and tried to steal a pig.

"And ride away with it on his horse," Gilberto snorted. "No doubt he meant to eat the whole thing himself. Oh, but wait. He didn't _manage_ to steal a pig. My, how incompetent."

That got him an odd look from his father. "You've been in a sour mood all morning," he observed.

"Who, me? I am as peaceful and cheerful as always, surely!"

Victoria, who was bringing their wine, rolled her eyes at that.

Gilberto smiled innocently and pretended not to notice.

Diego lifted a hand and motioned to Sergeant Mendoza. "Come join us," he called. "Tell us about the excitement last night!"

"There is not much to tell," he said, sitting down. "We never actually _saw_ Zorro. It might not even have been him."

Felipe let the conversation flow past him. He looked around the crowded room. Was the imposter here? One of Victoria's guests, a stranger, but everyone Felipe saw, he had seen many times before.

Suddenly, several people near the door hurried to look out on the plaza. In the sudden quiet, Felipe could hear shouts from outside. A shot. The sound of something breaking.

All at once, everyone rushed to the door.

By the time Felipe got outside, Zorro was fighting off three lancers - if it could be described as 'fighting off' when two of the lancers couldn't actually bring themselves to swing their swords and the third tripped over his own feet.

The alcalde charged out of the cuartel, yelling. "Lancers! Capture him! He has just robbed the church poor box!"

Mendoza was charging across the plaza, drawing his sword.

"Take him, Sergeant! Arrest that man!"

"Drop your weapon!" Mendoza commanded. Zorro turned and looked at him. Mendoza wavered visibly. "Please."

Zorro darted forward. He disarmed Mendoza with the first snap of his sword, then flipped the blade three more times. As Mendoza stumbled backwards, Zorro turned and ran in the other direction. He leaped onto an empty cart, from the empty cart to a window ledge of the dry goods store, and, catching the roof poles, flipped himself over the edge of the roof.

"Well, he's having an off day," Gilberto said s sourly. "Zorro is usually _much_ more graceful." He might have been about to have said more, but Mendoza turned around then. There was a Z cut into his uniform. He touched it gingerly and held up his hand to show a smear of blood. "He never cut me before," Felipe saw him say.

The alcalde was waving his arms in a grand plea. "Will no one stop this brigand! He even steals from the church! Is such a man your friend? That kind of man is the enemy of every man, woman, and child in this pueblo, and no one is safe until he has been run to ground!"

Three lancers - already too late, in Felipe's opinion - came riding out of the cuartel gates, heading for the edge of town.

Someone yelled "Down with Zorro!"

Someone else - possibly Emilio Pascal - yelled, "I'll capture the scoundrel myself!" Certainly it was the Pascal boy who ran for his horse first. He was followed by a brace of other young men, Gilberto among them.

Half a minute later and the plaza was quiet except for the receding hoof beats of Zorro's pursuers. Mendoza, who had had to collect a horse, was at the very end of the party of lancers and eager civilians.

Diego rocked back on his heels. "Well," he said.

Don Alejandro growled something unintelligible and stalked back into the tavern.

Although the tavern was now much emptier, the talk inside was just as loud as before, and this time Zorro was the only topic of conversation. Diego asked Victoria for some lunch (rice and chicken, today, and a spicy soup) and withdrew to a table near the wall.

Noticing Felipe's worried look - Don Alejandro had collected some of the older men and they were in a fierce but quiet debate near the bar - Diego patted his shoulder. "Don't worry."

"Don't worry? What if they catch him?"

"What if they do?" Diego asked mildly.

"What if Gilberto loses his temper?"

"Right now he's having the time of his life," Diego shrugged.

"It could all fall apart."

Diego patted his hand.

Victoria appeared with the soup. Just as she set them down, Father Benitez appeared and gestured at the empty seat.

"Yes, of course, join us," Diego said.

Victoria, startled, nearly dropped one of the bowls she'd been carrying. "Father! My goodness. We seldom see you in here."

He smiled gravely. "I need a good excuse to justify the extravagance, or you would see much more of me, my dear. Your cooking is excellent. Today..." he glanced at Diego, "the excuse is more than adequate. I have given poor Carlito the rest of the day off. His nerves are completely shot."

Victoria's eyes dropped. "Oh, Father. I can't imagine why Zorro..."

"Don't worry, child," he said. "I am sure all will come right in the end."

She bit her lip. "I'll...bring you some soup," she said.

When she was gone, the priest motioned for Diego to go ahead and eat.

"And are you all right, Father?" Diego asked. "Robbed by Zorro, I can see why Carlito is upset. It must have been very harrowing for you both."

"Oh, we weren't robbed by Zorro," he said easily. "Not technically."

Diego's look of surprise was certainly genuine. "Really?"

"I came into the sanctuary and found him trying to pick the lock on the poor box. So naturally, I came and opened it for him!"

"You opened..."

"What is that money given for, if not to help those who need it? I gave it to him, of course."

"Which means it wasn't stolen. And you didn't report it to the alcalde."

"Very interesting, isn't it?" He dropped his eyes and waited politely while Victoria set down his soup. When she had gone again, he blessed the soup quickly, lifted his spoon, and said, "Do you suppose the hunting party will catch him?"

Diego shrugged. "They never have before."

"Perhaps he is not up to his usual...ability," the priest said. Before Diego could form an answer, though, he changed the subject. "And how have you been? Is the cold bothering you very much, Don Diego?"

"The opposite, if anything, Father. I'm quite comfortable these days."

"I'm glad to hear it. And Felipe? How are your studies coming?"

Felipe nodded happily. "Diego has decided I am to learn to fence."

The father's face fell. "So soon? You are so young. And I hoped you would be a man of peace, like Don Diego."

It occurred to Felipe, too late, that perhaps this was something he wasn't to mention, but Diego didn't look at all put out. "I would rather he knew how to use a sword and never needed to, then not know when it was needed. Though I admit, I only ever fenced for the fun of it...sadly, the world hasn't progressed so far that defense isn't sometimes necessary."

Father Benitez sighed. "This world will never progress that far, I think." He glanced at Felipe. "I can wish you didn't have to be so prudent, but I think that sort of perfection can only be found in Heaven."

"But you live as though it has," Felipe protested. "Your only defense is that you trust everyone else to love and fear God."

That was convoluted enough that Diego had to translate. "And not everyone does, as we have seen," Father Benitez agreed. "I have not forgotten that I owe my life to Zorro and _his _sword." He gave Felipe a sad look. "We must each decide how to live our lives, and all of the best choices are dangerous and difficult and surely painful."

Oh. This was a Bible lesson. Felipe was pleased to realize he knew the correct response. "The easy choices will lead to worse," he said.

That earned him a long laugh. "Goodness! You don't need me at all!" Diego laughed, too. Listening to them make jokes about the quality of the local religious education you would have thought they hadn't a care in the world.

Z

The posse didn't capture Zorro. No surprise. The party had had no discipline or plan and the people in the lead were no trackers, obviously...

When they returned - hours later, damp, miserably cold, and irritable - the alcalde announced a town meeting for the next day, so that the 'good people of Los Angeles could devise a way to rid themselves of this scourge.' The twins glanced at each other and smiled - sort of, if you knew what to look for - at that. Felipe had to wait until they got home to ask what they had been so pleased about.

"'Zorro' will disrupt the meeting, of course," Diego said, shaking out his cape and hanging it behind the door of his room to dry.

"It's a trap for the real Zorro," Gilberto said. "Possibly."

Diego shook his head. "It is the crowning attempt to turn the town against him."

"In any case, Felipe, this is our chance to defeat and unmask this man. In front of witnesses. And get his confession."

"But...if it _is_ a trap?"

Diego shrugged. "Easy enough to determine. It will depend on where the lancers are. And easy enough to warn Zorro."

Gilberto nodded. "Felipe with explosives again?"

Felipe perked up at this. He was getting to quite like Diego's noisemakers.

"Not during daylight," Diego answered. "Something simple. Could we get a flag on the church bell tower, do you think?"

They planned and re-planned and counter-planned all evening, every time Don Alejandro was out of the room.


	3. Jan 8, 1814

_Thirteen from the United States, three from the Netherlands, two from Poland, and one each from Japan, Portugal, Belgium, Australia, Germany, Czech Revar, and Hungary. Ah, the trials of working in a small fandom. Clearly I should be writing Harry Potter or something..._

_On the other hand, the fen in Zorro is small, but loyal and supportive, and who could ask for more?_

**Jan 8, 1814**

Gilberto watched the pueblo early that morning. He saw more than half the fort's compliment of lancers ride out and the direction they took. Felipe rode the hills in the late morning, pretending to hunt rabbits, checking to make sure that no one was hiding in wait. When Diego and his father came up the road, he trotted down and pulled up behind them.

Don Alejandro glanced at the single rabbit hung from Felipe's saddlehorn and laughed. "What will you do with one rabbit?" he asked.

Felipe shrugged. "Sell it to the tavern." Victoria was fond of roast rabbit. This was the first he'd caught with a gun rather than a snare...

It had been almost a year since he'd last t had time to do any hunting at all, really. Diego had been so sick, and though he had had a little free time, Felipe had been restless and unsettled.

Z

The final plan was to hang an old sash from the roof of the mill behind Victoria's tavern. The 'all clear' signal would be easy enough for Zorro to see approaching from the west. Getting into the mill was easy enough. This time of year no one used it, and there was no one loitering outside to see: it was another uncomfortably cold day, and the men coming to the alcalde's meeting went straight for the warmth of the tavern.

When he came back through the kitchen, the alcalde was already making his speech. He paced back and forth grandly, occasionally gesturing with a triumphant finger. The content of the speech was nothing new, of course. He was going on and on about the scourge of Zorro, the helpless peasants living in terror of the bandit's predations...of course, this time, there was a grain of truth in it. Some of the people present were clearly worried about Zorro's motives. Maybe he'd been fooling them all along, and now his true colors were showing?

Felipe wondered how anyone could look Luis Ramone's handsome, urbane, lying face and not want to vomit. Really. How could anyone be so stupid to believe this man about what day of the week it was or the price of corn? He was the embodiment of a predator himself, and had been for more than a year. How could anyone forget?

Felipe dropped his eyes so his disgust and frustration wouldn't show.

Because he wasn't looking, he missed the arrival of Zorro. As the gasps rippled around him, Felipe looked up to see Zorro in the middle of the room, as though he had materialized out of thin air.

Or perhaps not Zorro, but someone who looked very, very like him. Tall. Broad. Arrogant. Playful. The figure in black drew his sword and jauntily saluted the alcalde.

_Was_ it Zorro?

The alcalde looked very happy to see him, if it was Zorro. He drew his sword with enthusiasm. "At last we meet on equal ground."

Mendoza - one of the few lancers left in town - was appalled. "Alcalde, this is _Zorro_!"

"Watch, Sergeant. You may learn something." He strutted forward and said grandly, "Face me, brigand!" It was so theatrical that Felipe nearly laughed.

Diego caught him firmly by the arm and drew him back, into the lee of the bar. All around the crowded room, people pulled to the side, pressing themselves together to make room for swinging swords.

The black-clad stranger and the alcalde took a couple of testing strokes at one another and then the duel started in earnest. Ramone attacked confidently and directly. His opponent stepped back and back again.

"He is quite good, actually," Diego whispered in Felipe's better ear. "But he is letting the alcalde win. Did you notice how he telegraphed that strike. Oh, and again." Diego tisked softly.

The fight moved back and forth across the floor. Felipe thought the fake Zorro looked a little desperate, but then he hadn't seen very many sword fights. When the alcalde redoubled his efforts and drove his opponent back so fiercely that he knocked over a table it seemed so real that Felipe found himself holding his breath.

The Zorro rallied briefly and attacked, but the alcalde easily knocked his sword aside and charged. Backing up, the man in black slipped in a smear of wine and fell on his rear. Even knowing that this was not - not - Gilberto, Felipe found his heart in his throat.

The alcalde smiled into the silence that filled the crowded tavern . "So," he said at last, "Finally we put an end to your evil ways."

"No! I yield! You must grant mercy - Please - "

"Oh, now really," boomed a voice from above. Everyone looked up. Another Zorro - the real one, surely, but hardly anyone knew that - was standing on the balcony. "And people say I have a tendency to overdramatize things! Even for you, Alcalde, this is too much." And he hopped over the railing and leapt -

He caught the heavy wooden chandelier neatly and swung forward and down. It was the prettiest entrance Felipe had ever seen. Everyone watched with their mouths hanging open, even the alcalde. Zorro landed neatly beside the alcalde and - almost casually - snapped his fist out and caught the alcalde on the jaw. The man dropped like a bag of rocks.

The real Zorro slid his toe under the hilt of the impostor's sword and flipped it neatly across the floor. "Shall we?" he asked.

Angry, eager, the false Zorro flipped to his feet, reclaimed his sword, and saluted.

The duel that followed was much more exciting than the first one. The real Zorro was much faster than the alcalde, and he moved a great deal more. The crowed pressed further back, unwilling to tear themselves away from the fight but equally uninterested in getting caught by the edge of a swinging sword.

Fast, fast. One dark figure was spinning around a support post, the other was ducking and slashing. Which was which? Felipe knew the real Zorro's sword, and he polished those boots regularly. If they would just hold still for a moment, if he could just get a good look...

Felipe snuck a glance at Diego. His face was intent, unreadable. No answers there about which Zorro was winning.

One of the Zorros was standing on the bar now. The height wasn't giving him much advantage, though, because he had to lean down, and meanwhile the other Zorro was swinging at his legs, making him jump.

The Zorro on the bar - Felipe was pretty sure it was not Gilberto - made a spectacular leap across to a table, arcing his sword down as he flew. The other Zorro neatly deflected the blade and spun, pursuing, increasing the speed of his attack. There was scattered applause and some shouts of advice.

The noise of the gunshot was unbearably loud in the packed room. The sound reflected off the floor and ceiling like a palpable wave. One of the Zorros stumbled and fell, spattering red - oh, everywhere! The other Zorro turned, shocked, to stare at the alcalde and the pistol he held. The room was horribly silent except for the gasping of the masked man on the floor.

Victoria shrieked and dove forward. Diego, as fast as either of the Zorros had been, caught her and pushed himself between her and the violence in the middle of the room. "It isn't him," he hissed quickly. "Victoria! I've seen Zorro fight too many times to mistake him. Victoria! Stop!"

The Zorro who was still standing suddenly broke his stillness and stalked toward the alcalde. Something in his face or his posture must have been terrifying, because the alcalde blanched and stepped quickly behind Mendoza. Mendoza said, "Uh...Zorro...or whoever...you are under arrest." He had no gun, though. Perhaps it had been his that the alcalde had fired. He didn't even try to draw his sword.

Zorro paused, though. "A fair fight isn't a crime, you idiot. You might make yourself useful and get a doctor, though, before your boss is guilty of murder."

"A dangerous criminal - " the alcalde began "Your accomplice-" Zorro turned his back on him and stalked out through the curtains to the kitchen. No one tried to stop him.

For a long second, no one moved at all, then Don Alejandro crossed the room and knelt on the floor beside the motionless, black-clad body. After a moment, he shook his head and said dully, "Get the priest, Mendoza. And run."

There was blood spilling all over the floor, now. Felipe felt a little ill.

Victoria was the next to collect herself. She ordered everyone out, including the alcalde. When Diego started to step away, though, she snared his arm and steered him into a chair. "Sit still," she said. "Pilar! The whisky behind the bar, get it out. Perhaps we can blunt the pain. I'm...I'm going to get a blanket." And she rushed up the stairs.

"Follow her," Diego signed. "Make sure she's all right."

So Felipe did. When Victoria reached the upstairs hallway she stopped and pressed both hands against her mouth. Felipe paused for a long moment, then took a loud step forward.

Victoria looked up.

"It's not Zorro," Felipe said very slowly. "The _other _man had Zorro's sword, Zorro's voice. Diego was right."

She nodded, her teeth gritted together.

Felipe wasn't sure what he was supposed to say next. "Don't be sad," he suggested.

She laughed silently, a tear leaking out. Then she said, "You should be looking after Diego."

Felipe shrugged. "He's fine, except he sent me to look after you."

Probably she didn't understand that. She only sighed and turned around to take a woolen blanket from the closet behind her. "There is a man downstairs, he is dying on my floor," she said. She went back down the stairs without saying another word. Felipe, feeling very far out of his depth, followed her.

She was just spreading the blanket as Father Benitez came running in. Oh. This would be last rites. He sat down beside Diego with his back to the tragedy on the floor so he would not have to watch.

That might have been Gilberto. It very nearly was. That man Don Alejandro was trying to make comfortable, it might have been his son.

Before the priest was finished, Don Alejandro rose and sat beside them at the table. "He's gone," he said. "I removed his mask...but I don't recognize him at all. A stranger."

"Well, the alcalde could hardly hire someone local to impersonate Zorro," Diego muttered. "My God, to think we almost had him. If he had been captured instead of killed, we might have gotten a confession..."

Don Alejandro sighed. "Perhaps. Perhaps not. Ramone would surely have claimed the man was mad or lying... He's getting away with murder this time." He folded his hands helplessly on the table.

They sat that way for a long time.

Z

Don Alejandro sent Diego and Felipe home. Naturally, he was not about to leave Victoria with a dead body on her floor. And, too, many of the caballeros were in town - they would not have gone far, after this excitement - and there would be some serious talking to do, and he needed to know what people were saying. But there was no need for Diego and Felipe to endure all that.

Diego said he would rather stay and help, but his father thought the day had been trying enough and he wouldn't hear of it. For just a moment, Felipe wondered if Diego would make a scene, but instead he nodded and went into the kitchen to say good-bye to Victoria.

She was staring at an empty pot, but looked up as soon as Diego and Felipe came in. "I still have two guests staying upstairs," she said. "Do you think they might be satisfied with soup? I have plenty of bread."

"I'm sure that will be fine," Diego said kindly.

She sighed and rummaged through her sack of onions. Then she stopped. "It wasn't him," she whispered. "I don't know why I'm so upset. Zorro is alive."

"Of course you're upset," Diego said. "We're at war with the government that is here to protect us."

She nodded. "How did you know it...it wasn't our Zorro who was shot? I don't think the alcalde even knew whom he was shooting."

"I was a competition fencer in Europe," Diego said. "I was very good. How a man looks..." He shrugged. "I pay attention to how a man moves."

That surprised her. "You know who Zorro is, then?"

"I would, probably, if I saw him fight. But our neighbors hardly ever duel in town...he's no one I've seen fighting here." He smiled self-depreciatingly. "Father has sent me home, but I wanted to check on you first."

"I'll be fine," she said at once. "I won't reopen tonight, just feed my guests and go to bed."

Z

Gilberto wasn't in the house, but Diego just went down to the cave. They found him vigorously cleaning Toronado's hooves. Zorro's clothing was in a heap on the floor and Gilberto hadn't bothered with either a cravat or a sash. "Don't start," he said. "It won't help. You can't make me feel any worse, and even if you could, it won't change anything."

Diego froze. "You can't think I'm angry with you - "

"I know you're angry."

"Not with you! This wasn't your fault. Don't be stupid."

"I've already been stupid," he answered, lowering the hoof to the ground and lifting the next, "I messed up. I lost our chance to catch Ramone in one of his games. I got a man killed - true, he was a criminal, but that won't mean anything to you, you'll insist on _insisting_ that he was a human being and a child of God as much as anyone - "

"Oh, shut up you idiot!" Diego snapped.

Gilberto closed his mouth and dropped his eyes.

"It wasn't your fault. Luis Ramone committed cold blooded murder. His choice, his guilt. He betrayed his own man - "

"He was trying to kill me," Gilberto said. "It is only luck that I'm alive. And now that - that other man is dead. Because I wasn't - Because I didn't - "

"The alcalde didn't care whom he shot," Diego corrected. "He didn't care. If he killed you, yes, his problems would be solved. But killing his accomplice saved him from having to answer awkward questions. He betrayed his accomplice without a second thought. He has no - no _honor_ at all, and you are in no way to blame for that."

Diego ran his hands through his hair in a gesture that was more like his father or Gilberto than himself. Sighing, he turned and crossed behind the desk and sat down. "What we tried to do today, we failed. The fraud died because the alcalde decided to cut his losses...but to feel guilty for either the failure or the death, just because you decided to resist oppression...? You did nothing wrong."

Gilberto rose slowly and ran his hands along Toronado's neck. "Except fail."

"If you cannot accept failing sometimes, you have no business _doing_ anything at all," Diego snapped tiredly.

That produced a short, prickly silence. "You wouldn't have failed," Gilberto said at last.

"I wouldn't have done anything differently." He closed his eyes. "I am only glad Ramone had to guess which Zorro was the real one."

Gilberto was quiet for a long minute, then he waved an arm for Felipe's attention. "Has he eaten?" he signed.

"Breakfast."

"Well. Perhaps you're right. We've had a setback, but so has he. It's not as though I'm giving up."

"You're humoring me," Diego complained.

"Yes. And also I'm starving. And cold. I could use some tea and bread and maybe some of that sausage. Coming?" He came to Diego and offered him an arm.

"Humoring me and fussing."

"I deny nothing. Up you get." He was braced in case Diego had difficulty rising, but he seemed steady enough on his feet. "And don't blame yourself either. I won't stand for it. You've given me all your best arguments, I'll use them."

"Plagiarist," Diego whispered. "Cheat." Felipe was sure that he was only tired, though, not ill. Mostly sure.

"You wound me. We share everything, freely." He let go of Diego, but hovered close by as they mounted the stairs.

"Ha. If I am sharing my best arguments, what are you sharing?"

"I'll let you read the new translation of _Republica_ Father gave me."

"I hate Cicero..."

"Well now you're just being difficult. Fine. I'll borrow your Franklin autobiography. There."

That earned him a single laugh. "How is loaning you _my_ book, no, never mind."

The twins squabble and teased one another all the way into the house and to the kitchen. Felipe found it tremendously reassuring.

_~TBC_


	4. April 2, 1811

**April 2, 1811**

"_That_ is your competition," de Vasca said smugly, pointing at a shortish figure dressed in a cadet's uniform. "And when I say 'competition' I mean he is going to run you and your brother both into the ground."

Gilberto was determined to be gracious. Even if it killed him. De Vasca had been Sir Edmund's best student until Diego had started beating him in the practice ring a few months before. He hadn't been gracious about losing to Diego and he had become downright hostile when a few weeks later he was also losing to Gilberto. And while Gilberto could sympathize (the de le Vega twins were younger, were from the colonial backwater, and had not even been studying for two years: in the other man's shoes, Gilberto would be put out as well), it was very unattractive.

This was Gilberto's first tournament. It was very likely he would lose - and lose two rounds very quickly and find himself eliminated before lunch at that! If it did go that badly, though, he was determined to be pleasant and gracious about it. He would be mature. He would be a sport.

Even to De Vasca; it was good practice. So instead of saying something cutting, Gilberto only followed de Vasca's look and asked politely, "Who is he?"

"Julian Hidalgo, the champion at the military academy for two years running. He's going to wipe the floor with you."

Gilberto shrugged casually. "The champion from the military academy! Yes, he probably will. It wasn't that long ago _you_ could take me every time." Well, perhaps that did not sound as gracious as he'd intended.

In fact, that morning Gilberto did very well. He made it to the noon break with three wins and no losses. He didn't get a chance to look over Hidalgo, though, until he met him across the circle in the first match of the afternoon.

Hidalgo was small, but confident. In fact, confidence was the only thing Gilberto could read from him at all. He stood at ease. His face was still, his eyes were cool. Even during the salute, he moved economically and gracefully and gave _nothing_ away.

From the first sally Gilberto learned he was intelligent and much stronger than he looked. Gilberto smiled and began a careful dance, testing him, looking for a weakness. Hidalgo fended him off with even, unhurried strokes.

And then Gilberto scored a point. For a moment, Hidalgo's eyes widened with surprise. And then he smiled. And then he was back to business, pressing forward, gently and calmly trying to create an opening in Gilberto's guard.

Dimly, Gilberto registered that Hidalgo was good. Far better than anyone Gilberto had faced yet today, better than Diego, possibly as good as Sir Edmund. He was determined not to make it an easy victory, though. He would make Hidalgo work for it.

Hidalgo landed a touch to Gilberto's shoulder with a move that Gilberto didn't even see coming. With the light sting came the delightful realization that he was not going to mind losing in the least, not today, not right now, not when it was the most interesting, most exciting, most fun fight he had ever had.

The moment of distraction cost Gilberto another point.

Knowing he had nothing to lose, Gilberto attempted a ridiculously obvious feint - that suddenly _wasn't_, and scored a touch off of Hidalgo's shin. Hidalgo actually blinked when the judge called the point.

And then Hidalgo charged and there wasn't time to think, barely time to keep up, even. The smaller man was strong and fast and he kept appearing inside Gilberto's longer reach.

The last touch, when it came, was nearly a relief. Gilberto was breathless and sweaty and his arms ached and he barely heard it when the judge named Hidalgo the victor.

And then Hidalgo stepped forward to shake his hand, and it was no casual, perfunctory greeting. He was grinning. He clouted Gilberto over the shoulder and laughed. "My God, your guard is _brilliant_. That was fantastic."

Gilberto gaped at him, still overwhelmed, almost dizzy.

"Oh, come on, you're not going to be a poor loser about this?" he asked cheerfully.

"I've never been further from it in my life," Gilberto finally gasped. "I don't know what to say."

That earned him another laugh, another clout over the shoulder, and then Hidalgo was gone and Gilberto, stilled dazed, was finding his way to his next match.

Which was with Diego.

Oh.

Well, they had known it was likely. And Gilberto knew what the likely outcome would be: in practice, Diego beat Gilberto four times out of five. He felt a surge of disappointment. He wasn't _ready_ for this to end.

But Diego was - as always - swift and strong and clever, so _clever_ with that sword. Gilberto nearly had him twice, but 'nearly' wasn't enough. In just a few minutes the match was finished and Gilberto was putting his sword away for the day...

And it was interesting, wandering from circle to circle, watching the different techniques, the clever strategies. He watched Hidalgo take down Armando de Vasca and, oh, _that _was satisfying.

And then it was the final match: Julian Hidalgo and Diego de le Vega. Gilberto felt a surge of pride when he realized how far Diego had come at their first tournament. Sir Edmund hadn't exaggerated when he called Diego gifted...

But the cadet had talent as well and much more experience. As fast as Diego was, Hidalgo was faster. Diego managed to - almost - score two points, but one of them was ruled out of bounds.

And then it was over. The judge was calling it, and Hidalgo was stepping back and saluting Diego, and it was _over_, and once again, Gilberto had no idea what to say.

_~tbc_


	5. Jan 30, 1814

_Hey! Thank you, everybody, for being so supportive!__I'm really glad you're liking 6 so much._

_My copy is due to arrive today! Hurray! This chapter is in celebration. _

_As usual, I own nothing and make no profit. Oh, and thanks to Martha, who has been following me through Zorro for almost a year now... _

**January 30, 1814**

The lamp was lit and Diego's pocket watch was open on the bedside table, so Felipe knew exactly how long this heart seizure had been going on: one hour and twenty-five minutes.

It wasn't tapering off at all. If anything, it was getting worse.

The room was ice cold and Diego was standing at the window, leaning on the sill. He had given up any pretence of calm or control. He was - and he never let this happen - visibly afraid. His breath was reduced to ragged gasps. Felipe couldn't get his attention, let alone reassure him or communicate something comforting.

He couldn't get Gilberto. He might not even be home, and if he was, disturbing his sleep was out of the question. For weeks Zorro had spent every spare moment harrying the garrison. Day or night - any moment he could slip away for a few hours - he rode the countryside letting himself be seen. He teased the patrols, led them into the desert on deer trails, tricked them into box canyons, snared them with quicksand or tar. He was relentless. One night he snuck into town and painted a Z on the cuartel gates. He had wanted to go back the next night and do it in pitch so he could set it on fire, but Diego had been adamant that accidently burning the pueblo down would not have endeared him to the populace.

He had dropped a skunk through the skylight in the alcalde's office instead.

Gilberto was angry and arrogant. If he were exhausted as well the combination might be fatal. Diego had forbidden him to involve his brother and he'd been _right_...

But Felipe was out of his depth. Medicine didn't help. Time wasn't helping. Diego was so cold he was shaking and he wouldn't even be coaxed into looking up, let alone come away from the window and sit down.

Felipe pulled his own blanket tighter and scooted down the hall to knock on Don Alejandro's door. It was warmer in the hall, but he still shivered a little, waiting. He knocked again. As he lifted his hand to knock a third time, the door opened.

Don Alejandro's hair was very nearly standing on end and he was still pulling on his dressing gown. "Do we need to send for the doctor?" he asked without greeting or pausing.

Felipe scampered to keep up with him, shaking his head. There was nothing the doctor could do, except drug him into sleep, and both Gilberto and Diego believed that was a very bad idea.

In the icy room Don Alejandro took Diego's rosary from the desk and joined him at the window. He said nothing about Diego's distress or the cold or anything. He just started saying his prayers out loud.

Diego gave no sign that he noticed.

Felipe supposed he should pray, too. He knelt down and tucked the blanket around himself and thought: _If God _wanted_ to spare Diego this, he would have already done it._

It was a terrible thought. The kind you might go to Hell for. It was evil.

It was also true, and Felipe felt horrible.

Diego was very sick this time. He was blue like death, like someone who had died, like he might be losing the fight this time. And God hadn't been helping before Felipe had blasphemed. If he had been_ going_ to help, Felipe had spoiled it, surely...

Hopelessly, he began to ask forgiveness.

When Don Alejandro reached "_et nunc, et semper, et in saecula saeculorum_," Diego reached out and caught his father's arm. Don Alejandro moved closer but kept praying.

Somewhere in the third decade Diego turned into his father's arms. The spell had not abated, as far as Felipe could tell, but turning away from the window was something. Don Alejandro stroked Diego's hair and murmured, "Easy, son. This will pass."

Diego rested his cheek against his father's temple and panted.

"This cold can't be good for you. Come to bed, Diego."

Diego shook his head. "No air," he gasped.

"There is plenty of air. You know there is... The air is fine, it is your heart that is faltering. Sit down at least, and let it rest."

"Papa - "

"Hush. I know. Come sit down." He coaxed Diego into bed and Felipe scrambled to help prop pillows and arrange the extra blankets. "That's_ fine_, Diego. Ride it out. Deep breaths if you can, you always do better...I know, I know, son. You're tired and afraid, but this won't last forever. Just try a little harder."

Diego clung to his father's hand. Felipe glanced at the watch: it was close to three, now. How much longer would this go on?

Minutes crawled by. The window was still open; everyone was huddled under blankets. Very quietly, Don Alejandro resumed praying.

It was close to four when Diego's breathing evened out and his color began to improve. Felipe slipped over and shut the window. Then he twined his fingers around Diego's wrist: it took several second to even find the flutter, it was so faint and uneven. Still...it wasn't dangerously fast any more.

He reached for the lamp to put it out. Don Alejandro blocked him. "This is three bad nights in a row, isn't it?"

Felipe nodded. The last two nights the spells weren't nearly this bad, but Diego had been sick.

"Is this because the boys are quarreling?"

Felipe blinked. "They aren't quarreling," he protested.

"Does that mean they haven't told you what the issue is? Or that you have promised not to tell on them?"

"Nobody's yelling." Felipe hedged. "Gilberto is unhappy and Diego is worried and they disagree, but they aren't angry about it. They're not fighting."

"He...isn't seeing a woman secretly, is he? If he's behaving dishonorably..." He trailed off as Felipe vigorously shook his head. "Smuggling, then?"

What? Wait - _What?_

"You know what the word means," Don Alejandro said impatiently.

"Yes! Everyone does it. But he wouldn't keep it a secret from you. Anyway. If there were a foreign ship in San Pedro, everyone would know."

"Not all ships come to the port. There has been a lot of pirate activity lately."

That was a surprise. Felipe thought that the threat of pirates was a just a boogey-man invented by the alcalde to frighten people into obeying.

"Felipe? Is my son dealing with pirates? Is he raising an army and buying guns to overthrow the alcalde?"

Felipe gasped. "No! Never!" This was too much, and Felipe jumped to his feet, letting the blanket pool around his ankles. "Don't you know him at all? War is too terrible! Women and children and old people dead, houses destroyed, crops ruined and people going hungry - How can you think that of him?" He stopped talking because Don Alejandro was blinking and frowning and _clearly_ had only a very basic idea of what he'd just said. Felipe took a deep breath. "No."

Don Alejandro sighed. "I know that the three of you...don't believe in war. But sometimes the choices aren't so simple. To watch your neighbors impoverished and beaten...charged with invented crimes...to live in fear, that is unbearable, too," he said gently.

Felipe shook his head. It hadn't come to that. "There hasn't been a whipping in weeks." That was true - even the legitimate ones, Zorro interrupted now. The alcalde couldn't do _anything_. "No one has been put in jail since Victoria. Gilberto knows we don't need a war."

"If he were involved in something, you would know."

Felipe nodded. He gave the best answer he could. "Gilberto isn't involved in anything you would disapprove of." He had to spell out disapprove. He did it slowly.

"Very well. Very well. Do you think...is there anything I can do for them?"

Felipe glanced at Diego, sleeping. "The beach," he said cautiously. "It won't be too cool in the afternoon. Make them have a little fun."

"Yes, yes...That's a good idea."

Gilberto and Diego both dragged in late to breakfast that morning. Diego was very pleased by his father's announcement that they were riding out to the shore. If Gilberto was irritated because he'd hoped to slip away so Zorro cold make a nuisance of himself, well...he concealed it.

They took the wagon; what with the picnic hamper and the old blankets and the kettle and everything, they needed the space. And everyone pretended that no one was worried about Diego's riding.

It was a beautiful day. As cold as the nights were this time of year, things warmed up very quickly under the bright sunlight. The tide was out when the first arrived. Diego immediately removed his shoes, rolled up his pants, and waded into the cold water, edging along the rocks, hunting for abalone.

Felipe and Gilberto both scowled at this, but Don Alejandro caught them by each by the shoulder. "He's showing you he can. Let him be."

Felipe didn't like it, but there was nothing he could do but make a scene and that wouldn't help...still, if Diego were to slip and fall into that cold water, that was the kind of surprise Father Benitez warned that Diego's heart didn't need. Grumbling to himself, Felipe retrieved a string bag from the wagon and followed Diego along the shore. He could carry the shellfish, anyway. And if that put him close enough to catch Diego if he slipped, well, that was just convenient.

It was slow, quiet work, made more so because Diego was being cautious and moving slowly. Prying up abalone was hard work. Diego was careful. He paused frequently to rest. When there were seven of the large shellfish in Felipe's bag, Diego hopped onto a warm, flat stone and motioned Felipe to join him.

It was nice on the rock. Felipe shook the cold water off his feet and leaned back on his arms.

"I'm sorry about last night," Diego said suddenly.

Felipe shrugged and looked away.

"It frightened you - "

Felipe scowled at him.

Diego sighed.

"It isn't your fault," Felipe said. "Nobody is angry at you. If there were anything we could do to help... We've got to calm Gilberto down. Your father thinks the two of you are fighting, and that that is straining you."

"Wait, I don't - Gilberto and I?"

Felipe repeated it.

Diego sighed. "Believe me, if I _could_ calm him down! But he is determined to drive the alcalde out. And what can I say, that he's wrong? He's not. But I don't think...I don't think it will work."

Felipe thought about that. "I can tell him it's too much for you."

"I don't want to use that."

Even if it's true? Felipe wanted to say. Instead, he lifted the bag and said, "Do you think we have enough?"

Z

The meal was lovely. Gilberto had made a fire and they roasted the abalone in the coals, along with potatoes and apples and onions. They had brought bread and cheese and wine in the hamper, and a pot and water to boil for tea. Diego ate well, and Gilberto thawed enough to tell teasing stories from their student days in Madrid. After they ate, Diego napped on a blanket by the fire and Don Alejandro and Gilberto took the fishing poles out of the wagon and spent the afternoon out on the rocks. They didn't catch any fish, but when they returned to the sand Gilberto seemed much more relaxed and content.

Since he hadn't caught any dinner, when they headed inland they detoured a bit south so they could have an early supper in the pueblo. Victoria's wasn't terrible crowded, but the men who were there seemed unusually quiet.

"Something going on?" Don Alejandro asked when she came to greet them.

She scowled irritably. "The alcalde has a plan to catch Zorro."

Gilberto laughed. "What else is new?"

"Well, _this_ one is beyond the pale," she said "Also, it might work."

"What's he done?" Diego asked.

"He has hired a wild Indian to track Toronado. His name is Grey Wing and apparently he is a famous hunter. He arrived in town not an hour ago!"

"Surely that's illegal," Don Alejandro said thoughtfully. "The military can't hire Indians directly any more than civilians can. Only the church ..."

"Everyone does it. Who does the laundry in most of the presidios but Indian labor? And when has our alcalde ever minded flaunting the law?"

"What exactly is this Grey Wing going to do?" Diego asked.

"At dawn tomorrow he will lead out a party of lancers and run Zorro into the ground."

"That sounds very serious," Don Alejandro said. "But Zorro's a clever fellow. I wouldn't worry."

"True," Diego agreed. "The lancers have been trying to track him for months. They never had any luck."

Dinner was very subdued, though, and the family didn't linger afterward. When they reached the house, even though it was already dark, Don Alejandro asked Tomas to saddle Dulcinea. "I'm going to see Don Carlos," he said to Gilberto. "Then possibly Don Sebastian. I doubt I'll be back by morning...Listen, boys, I need you to take care of something for me. Rouse the men early, we need to move some livestock. The sheep in the north pasture and the sheep on oak hill, I want them exchanged. How many cattle have we got out by Redrock? It should be about five hundred. I want them brought closer in, those cows may start to drop soon, and I'd rather they be in the pasture over there."

"We'll take care of it," Diego said quickly. "You'll be careful, riding at night?"

"Yes, of course. I know my way very well."

Felipe managed to make it into the house before the questions exploded out of him. "What _was_ that? Exchanging the sheep! And it's a terrible idea to bring those cows down! Is he ill?"

Gilberto and Diego began to laugh. It started as a few week giggles, but very quickly they were laughing so hard they had to clutch at each other to keep from falling over.

Felipe stomped his foot. "What is going on?"

Diego, chortling, stumbled into a chair. "And you think _you're_ a fox! My God, that man could teach us all."

"What is it?"

"The tracks," Gilberto said, wiping his face. "Oh, it's so brilliant. All those animals will make absolute hash of Toronado's trail. And I'm sure he's going to ask Don Carlos and Don Sebastian to help, too."

"It won't be enough," Diego said, sobering.

"No," Gilberto agreed. "It won't be enough."

"I'll take Toronado out tomorrow and lay a false trail. Lead him on a hunt round the territory."

"I'm sorry, Diego. No. I cannot bet all our lives on your stamina."

"This is an excellent chance," Diego protested. "You'll go town tomorrow, offer to join the search party. I'm sure Emilio Pascal will be there, and some volunteers hoping to get the reward or just see the show. Imagine, having you in full sight the whole time the alcalde is tracking Zorro."

"I'll do it," Felipe said. "He'll let me ride him. We'll leave before dawn. We can be over the pass before the soldiers even leave the road."

"He's right," Gilberto said. "And you need to organize the livestock, if I'm going to be heading to the pueblo first thing. Diego, it won't be dangerous. Toronado won't have any trouble staying ahead of - "

"I know. All right? Clearly this is the best plan, not that I like it!" He ran his hands through his hair. "We'll all need a good night's sleep. Tomorrow is going to be a busy day."

"I'll look in on Toronado, then," Gilberto said. "And then I'll sleep. I promise."

As they undressed for bed shortly after that, Felipe poked his head around the doorway and asked, "Where will I go?"

"Well, the ravine is a wash right now, isn't it? Follow it down to the watering hole - yes, I know, that ground is very muddy. But there should be several hundred sheep passing there an hour after you. Cross the road and go south, on all the way to the edge of Pascal land...that should annoy Emilio. From there turn north - there's a canyon there where we used to pick berries, do you remember? And from there into the hills. It's very rocky. You should lose them early on, and it should be safe to stop and rest for a while."

"And then come home?"

Diego sighed. "Into the desert. You know the Wolf watering hole?"

Felipe nodded. "Cattle there." This time of year it was nice and green: all the better to hide his tracks.

"A line shack, too. You'll be comfortable until Gilberto comes to get you. Hmmm. We'll tell my father that you've gone fishing. These last few nights have been rather hard on you, he knows. I'm sorry it isn't a real break."


	6. Jan 31, 1814

_Some of you have asked if I write other fanfic. I do, but it is quite different than Zorro. The other penname is Dasha, and my stuff is up at Wrathbait, Cascade Library,852 Prospect, Area 52, and hlfiction. I should warn you from the start that while a lot of it is rated __**PG**__...well, a lot of it is__** not**__. Read the warnings. If it makes you uncomfortable, don't read it. _

_Some of you have asked for shorter chapters. This one runs 15 pages, but I think you will be glad I didn't cut it in half!_

_As usual: I own no characters or situations._

_Oh: and the episodes are **wonderful**. _

**January 31, 1814**

It had started off so well. Just before dawn Diego had packed him off with bread and cheese and a canteen full of water and saddle bags weighted down with sand. Felipe had almost felt festive as he turned Toronado down the trickle that ran down the ravine.

That had been hours ago. He was tired, now, and dusty and hot from the sun. He'd drunk half his water, he was not as far along as he'd expected, and he had the nervous feeling that his pursuers were closing behind him.

He saw the entrance to the canyon just ahead and nudged Toronado just a little faster. It was shadier here, and sheltered from the worst of the cold at night, there were still some berries left. He hadn't taken time to stop for food, so he snatched berries as he passed, popping them in his mouth and trying not to think of the alcalde and the soldiers and the unconverted Indian behind him.

The canyon exit was narrow and steep. If he hadn't known better, he would have thought it was impassable, even for someone on foot. Toronado was surefooted, though, and fearless. He passed through the narrow passage delicately, never even scraping Felipe's hip on the rough stone.

Halfway up, he pulled into a bushy switchback and slid off Toronado's back. On his hands and knees he crept to the edge and looked back down on the canyon below. What he saw took his breath away. There must have been two dozen mounted men below. Felipe could make out the alcalde's pale horse and Viking. The party had stopped and they were examining the berry bushes.

They were so close!

Felipe scrambled onto Toronado's back and fled the rest of the way up the canyon. From here he turned toward de le Vega land. It wasn't, this part of it, very good de le Vega land: dry, sparse cover, only a little failed mine. He knew the terrain as well as anyone, even the twins. He knew the rocky paths and the hard ground. That might be some advantage.

Z

He wasn't fast enough.

Toronado was fast enough. He could easily leave their pursuers behind. But over the uneven ground, Felipe couldn't balance well enough to keep up. This was just too slow.

Felipe looked around. Brown rock and barren dirt, even this time of year! He could head downhill, the path was smoother, he could go faster, but he would leave a trail even the alcalde himself could read. Uphill, over the ridge, the way he was supposed to go...it was seven or eight more miles through the desert before he reached the watering hole.

They were still behind him, he was sure.

There was nothing here. Hiding would do no good, even if there were a place to hide -

There was the failed mine. Jose Macias' father had been killed not half a mile from here when the mine collapsed. He couldn't hide Toronado there, but he didn't need to. Toronado was fast enough to get away by himself.

And Felipe was small enough to hide in places grown men couldn't fit.

He patted Toronado's neck and turned eastward, steeply uphill. Even after the long day, Toronado didn't complain. It was only a few minutes before the mine was in sight.

He grabbed the canteen and slid to the ground. Did he hear voices? Were they that close behind him? He made the whistle that would send Toronado home. Looking as surprised as a horse could, Toronado swung around to look at him. Felipe made the whistle again, swatted his flank, and turned and ran for the mine entrance.

Perhaps he wouldn't have to go very far inside. Perhaps they would _try_ to follow Toronado. They wouldn't catch him...It would be all right...

He felt the thunder of hooves a few seconds before he heard the hunting party arrive. They didn't go on, and Felipe fled further into the darkness, his hands out before him. Further in, further in. Stay small. Stay quiet.

A tiny shaft of light flared from behind him, splitting the darkness into different textures of shadow.

"Zorro? Give yourself up. This is no safe hiding place." Gilberto's voice, arrogant and flat and far too loud. Felipe felt a wave of relief.

A pause, and then, "You must be wrong, Grey Wing. There's no one here. It certainly isn't a hideout. There's no sign of use, no water, and certainly no stable for that horse."

The voice that answered back was too distorted by echoes for Felipe to make any sense of it.

And then there was a strange unearthly yell and a terrible rumbling and the whole mountain came tumbling down. Felipe scrunched himself into a ball and pressed himself against the wall, panicking as endless dust and tiny sharp stones rained down.

After long seconds he realized that the worst of the noise was far behind him, close to the entrance.

And then there was silence.

"Felipe, I hear you breathing. Make a noise, so I can find you."

It took two tries for Felipe to clap his trembling hands, but within just a few seconds Gilberto was _there_, smelling of sweat and horse, an arm around his shoulder. For a moment, Felipe's throat seized painfully and he couldn't breathe at all, and then he was gulping and hugging Gilberto back.

"Are you hurt? Are you hurt? Answer me, child?"

Felipe shook his head.

"All right. Be still. My light's gone out. Here, hold the candle and let me get some fire. I need to see where we are."

They were trapped underground, Felipe thought. But he had no way to say so.

Perhaps Gilberto didn't need to hear his complaint. "There were several ventilation shafts along the main tunnel. If we can find one that isn't too badly blocked, we may be able to get out of here...or at least get some air."

The light flared painfully bright. Felipe held out the candle stub and turned his face away. When the light was steady, Gilberto smiled. "Oh. More roomy than I'd hoped, even."

Felipe looked around. Roomy wasn't the word he'd use. The dust in the air was a grey haze. He saw the canteen he'd dropped, or part of it, crushed under a rock the size of a steer's head. There were timbers down, and the floor was uneven rubble.

"Come on, this way, while the light lasts," Gilberto said briskly.

And the air...and the ceiling supports...and our courage...

But Felipe didn't complain.

It couldn't have taken them long to find the shaft; they didn't really have to go very far. It was in a section that actually seemed to have been made _bigger_ by falling rock. Although the floor was uneven and sharp, Felipe could almost walk upright up the narrow slope.

It was much harder on poor Gilberto, of course. He was caught between squatting and crawling and his wider frame scraped along the sides. He was pretty quick, though, squeezing his way along. There was a thin shaft of light on the other end.

When he reached the light, Felipe began to grab franticly at the rocks. Gilberto stopped him. "You don't want it falling in on us. Let me think..." he angled the light this way and that and then blew out the candle. "This one first. It should slide toward us. We need to ease the weight down or it will land on our laps, yes?"

By the time they had an opening big enough to fit Felipe's shoulders through, his hands stung, his knees were numb from squatting and his shoulders ached to the bone.

"Stop," Gilberto said softly.

"But we're almost done," Felipe protested through stiff fingers.

"We're done. You're going through."

Oh. Felipe glanced at the beautiful, bright opening. From the other side he might be able to lever...

Gilberto shook his head. "The men who followed me in, Felipe if they are alive their air is running out. The alcalde is an idiot. He'll never get them out, if he even cares enough to try." He took a deep breath. "You have to go get Diego. It will take explosives to reach the other side, and there is no one else - yes, I know it is asking too much of him, I know, but anyone else will just collapse the mountain on us. You must go home and tell him. As quickly as you can, and don't look at me like that!"

"But...you? I can't go to Diego and _leave_ you here."

"I'll...I'll follow as quickly as I can. It won't take me long to enlarge this. A few hours at most. I'll come behind you."

Felipe bit his lip.

"This is not open for discussion."

"Diego will be angry," he protested.

"You have no idea. Now get going. As it is, you'll barely make it home before dark and that's if you run."

Fuming, frightened, unable to shake the feeling that something was odd about Gilberto's plan, he squeezed through the narrow opening. His shirt caught on the sharp rocks, but he pushed on -

And suddenly he was free, out in the afternoon air. He turned back, squinting to see Gilberto smiling up from the shadow. "Go on. Run."

Felipe turned and ran down the hill, skidding on loose rocks. At the bottom he looked up, trying to figure out what way he was facing. The sun -

His thoughts trailed away as he gaped at the impossible sight before him. Toronado was on the next hill. He had kicked open a cactus and was munching on the insides. Felipe whistled sharply. At once Toronado picked up his ears, wheeled, and dashed to him.

Not knowing if he should scold the horse for disobeying or bless him for this miracle, Felipe did neither, just buried his face briefly in the dusty neck and then scrambled into the saddle.

He took the direct route home. There was no sense in hiding now - the great tracker was buried under tons of rock.

He had to detour a bit, and skirt the edges of the valley. A thousand head of cattle or so were being driven across the open land. Felipe thought he recognized Don Alejandro on Dulcinea. Despite everything, he smiled a little at the idea of all the caballeros out randomly moving their animals here to there and back again.

This was good news, too. Diego would have sent all the men out early that morning. No one would be around the hacienda. Felipe took the shorter route and approached the house from the front. Diego wouldn't be down in the cave. He'd been in the library or -

Sitting in the front courtyard, the picture of worry, his head cradled in his hands. Toronado caught wind of him and neighed. Diego leapt to his feet. He ran to the gate and froze, motioning them back behind the bushes.

Felipe dismounted and walked Toronado in circles to cool him while Diego casually crossed the road and walked up the hill. "Felipe - your face is covered with blood."

"It's nothing. I'm fine. But it all went wrong. Diego, I'm sorry, it was my fault."

Diego swallowed. "'Berto?"

"Trapped, in the mine. He sent me to get you. The lancers are trapped, too. He said they need explosives. He said only you..."

"Trapped - in the _mine_?" He mounted Toronado and reached down to swing Felipe up behind him.

Z

As he dismounted, Diego asked, "How badly are you hurt?"

Felipe shook his head.

"Rub Toronado down and give him some water, while you collect your thoughts. I need to know what happened."

Tending Toronado was deeply reassuring, in fact. For one thing, it was normal, something he did every day. For another, the horse didn't seem the least bit worried. You had to admire that kind of confidence... When Felipe set down the water bucket and turned around he felt much better.

To his astonishment, Zorro was standing right behind him. Felipe gaped. Impossible -

Just as impossible as Diego's voice coming from Zorro form: "I need to know exactly what happened."

Trying to ignore the growing stiffness in his hands, Felipe answered, "I wasn't fast enough. They were gaining. I freed Toronado and hid in the mine, but Gilberto followed me in and _they_ followed _him_. They thought I led them to Zorro...There was a...a...falling, and it was bad, but Gilberto got us to a... to an opening. He sent me to get you. You have to open the entrance or the men will die. Gilberto said he'd dig out and follow me, he might be out by now - "

And _that_ was what was wrong with it. Gilberto wouldn't keep enlarging the exit hole, not when the others were sealed in with maybe no air. He would have turned and started trying to reach the lancers. Felipe felt ill. There was no chance that Gilberto was free.

Even through the mask, Felipe could see that Diego knew it too.

"Clean yourself up," Diego said gently. "Then go through the house and saddle Socrates and bring him around to the stall here. When my father comes home, tell him I got bored and went riding."

"Riding? Alone? On a cart horse?" No one would believe that. It was just stupid.

Diego patted his shoulder and then turned and began loading Toronado's saddlebags with explosives. "Socrates is slow, but he is almost as large as Toronado."

Oh. Another decoy. Not a bad idea, really, if this tracker had not been so phenomenal.

"Don't worry, Felipe. Everything will be all right."

The horror of what was happening crashed in on him all at once. "No! NO! You can't be Zorro. You might have to fight. You can't do this. Gilberto - "

"I am doing exactly what he expects me to do," Diego said mounting. "And it isn't only necessary, it is also very useful: they saw Gilberto de le Vega go in and Zorro will ride up from outside. This is the perfect opportunity to cement their assumptions and to make sure they never think of his name when trying to guess."

"It's not safe!"

Diego ran a loving hand along Toronado's neck. "No, it's not. Everyone is in terrible danger. I almost...it seems impossible that this could happen so quickly. But it isn't hopeless, Felipe. Not if you and I don't give up."

He turned Toronado and ducked low over his neck. "You did well today," he said. "Don't doubt it." And then he was on his way down the low passage.

Shaking, Felipe took two buckets of water outside and washed himself. Toronado was already gone. The bottom of the ravine was deep in shadow and already uncomfortably cool. The water burned his cuts. He had to scrub to get the matted blood out of the hair behind his ear.

Felipe went back through the house. Only Pepe was in the barn. He said he was saddling Socrates for Diego and led him out and around and down to Toronado's stall. It was dark when he finished.

He couldn't wait in the cave, not for hours and hours, though he wanted to. Don Alejandro would be coming home. Probably. Maybe. And Felipe was hungry.

In the kitchen Maria fussed over the cut on his forehead and the scrape on his arm. Felipe said he'd fallen down the bank when a foothold gave way. She put plasters on him and gave him soup.

Don Alejandro came home. When Felipe told him that Diego had ridden out on the big cart horse he understood at once and laughed. "And I thought I was being so clever. But what happened to you, Felipe."

He managed to shrug sheepishly and told his lie again. A fall. Embarrassing, but nothing.

"Have you eaten? Surely not enough! We won't wait for the boys, I'm sure they're having fun. God knows when they'll be finished. Let's have some supper."

A rider thundered into the courtyard, and it was far too soon for it to be one of the twins. Felipe's heart sank. With dragging feet he followed Don Alejandro outside. The messenger was shouting and speaking too quickly, but Felipe had already guessed what he was going to say: The search party had gone into the mine and the roof had come down, and Gilberto was among those trapped.

Don Alejandro turned at once and sprinted for the barn. Then he stopped and said to Felipe, "Don't tell Diego."

Felipe watched him go. It must be cruel not to tell what he knew, but what could he say? That when he had seen Gilberto last - hours ago, in an unstable shaft, with no food or water and probably not even trying to dig an escape for himself - he had been alive? That wouldn't be any kinder than this, and Don Alejandro still would not _know_ anything until he arrived.

Felipe went into the house and sat on the piano stool.

He might have sat for a long time.

When he couldn't bear it any longer, he went down to the cave and lit a lamp. It wasn't any cooler here than usual, but he shivered.

Diego would be fine. It was a hard ride, but not too long and Toronado would take care of him. And with most of the search party inside the mine, who would try to fight him?

The lamp was running low on oil. He should refill it.

Had he told Diego he was sorry for getting Gilberto trapped underground? He certainly hadn't mentioned how brave Gilberto had been...how he had lied so cheerfully about his own escape in order to get Felipe to leave him.

Toronado's hooves were heavy and slow in the passage. Exhausted. Felipe jumped up and moved Socrates aside. Toronado was still flecked here and there with lather. Diego had Zorro's mask in his hand, crumpled and sodden with sweat. Diego dismounted by more or less falling out of the saddle and clinging to the stirrup. Felipe reached for him.

"Toronado first..." Diego groaned. "He has saved many lives today."

Felipe crawled up under Diego's arm and heaved him the few feet to the oatbox where he could sit. For a moment he hesitated, afraid to ask. .

"Yes, Gilberto is fine."

Felipe's arms ached. He could barely reach up to lift down Toronado's saddle, and it was so heavy he nearly dropped it. However hard the work was, though, Diego was right. Toronado had done more than anyone. He'd been running all day and into the night, and if Gilberto was alive that meant he had succeeded. Brave, clever, wonderful Toronado. Felipe was rubbing down the black coat to sleekness when the lamp began to gutter.

"I'll get it," Diego said, rising carefully. After he fixed the light, Felipe heard him open the desk and prepare a dose of medicine.

Felipe poured out water and grain for Toronado and went to Diego who was stripping out of Zorro's outer clothing and leaving it scattered untidily on the laboratory floor. "Bed," Felipe said.

"I must be seen to return on Socrates. It's all right, Felipe. I look like hell, I'm sure, but that is easily enough explained." He smiled. "I am an invalid, after all."

Diego was, in fact, grey with exhaustion. His face was heavily lined and his shoulders hunched forward. Felipe didn't feel like joking. Instead, he asked, "Are you going to faint and fall off that horse?"

"I certainly hope not." Then, "There's no choice. I'll come around to the road instead of going down to the crossroads. You can meet me. It will not take ten minutes."

Diego was right. It took no time at all, although Diego was clinging to the saddle horn and letting Socrates find his own way by the time the big cart horse clambered onto the road. Felipe took the bridle, patted poor confused Socrates on the neck, and led them the rest of the way home. Juan was in the barn fussing at a couple of vaqueros when they arrived. He caught Diego as he dismounted and handed Socrates off to Old Maxim.

Juan lowered Diego onto a bench and sighed. "We're gathering up as many of the men as we can to send out to the old mine. We're scattered all across the country, though, and many of them were planning to camp out."

Muzzily, Diego looked up, "I don't understand?"

Belatedly, Felipe remembered his orders. "Don't tell him."

Juan hesitated. Felipe mouthed, "No," and franticly shook his head. Diego was far too weak to pretend to be distraught over the brother he had just rescued.

"Everyone is saying that Zorro is trapped at your father's old copper mine," Juan said, scowling.

"Ah," Diego muttered. "Zorro. No, they will not capture Zorro." He rose unaided...and thanked Juan...and made his way slowly out of the barn...and toward the house. Felipe stayed beside him. The kitchen door was closest.

Maria was inside. Her eyes widened. "Don Diego, have you been out all this time? Come and sit down!" Soup and bread and watered wine appeared immediately. Diego smiled politely and made a show of taking a few bites of food.

"Perhaps...I could heat water for a bath," Maria suggested.

"No, thank you, Maria. I am only tired," Diego answered. It wasn't convincing. He was pale and unsteady and barely seemed to have the energy to chew. Maria continued to fuss, offering tea, watching Diego worriedly. Felipe couldn't blame her, but it _wasn't _helping.

"Come to bed," Felipe said. "Get your feet up."

"The library," Diego conceded. "I can put my feet up there."

Stubborn. Felipe scowled, shaking his head.

"Just until Father and Gilberto get home," Diego promised.

Maria looked away and bit her lip. Aching inside, Felipe patted her shoulder and offered Diego his arm. The library would be fine.

He was squatting on the library floor fumbling at Diego's shoes with stiff fingers when the door flew open and Gilberto came running in. "Diego!" he shouted.

Diego's head shot up and his mouth opened, but he said nothing. Gilberto slid a bit on the floor as he stumbled to a stop. Felipe barely got out of the way before he pounced on his brother and caught him in a desperate hug. "Brilliant!" he gasped. "Magnificent." Then he pulled back and said loudly, "Mother of God, but I've had a horrible day. You _cannot_ imagine! That idiot Ramone! But look at you! Father said you took it into your head to be _clever._ It seems to me you badly overdid it. You need to be careful, little brother."

And then Don Alejandro was there. He looked from one twin to the other. Gilberto was filthy and tattered. Diego was grey with exhaustion. He sighed deeply. He sank into a chair. "Well," he said. "Well. At any rate, it's over now. Grey Wing tossed the alcalde's money on the ground and walked away. Zorro is safe. For now at least. It was well done, all of you...you, too, Felipe, I think. I won't ask what _you_ were doing today. I don't want to know what tracks you thought were necessary to destroy or where they were...God knows I don't want to know where they were." He went to the side table and poured two small glasses of wine. He gave the second glass to Gilberto. "This family has nothing to be ashamed of. All that Senor Zorro has done for this territory...we did our best to repay him. I can't fault any of you for your courage." He snorted. "Or your creativity."

He drained the glass in one swallow.

"However. In the future, I hope you will remember that I would not trade _any _of you for Zorro. I expect - no, I demand - that you take more care." He stood up and set his glass aside. "Felipe. You will sleep in your room tonight, and I will look after Diego." And he stalked out.

"Is he angry?" Felipe asked hesitantly.

"No," Gilberto said softly. "He's not angry. Help me get Diego to bed."

When they were safely in Diego's room Gilberto suddenly grinned again. "I_ saw_ you. Just a glimpse. Diego, you were amazing."

Swaying, leaning on his shorter brother's arm, Diego ignored both his own weakness and Gilberto's excitement. "Listen, Sepulveda and Reyes, they're not idiots. They had built two huge bonfires for light and were trying to shift the boulders. They didn't even challenge me when I arrived. When they saw what I had, they got out of the way."

"Oh, _certainly_. Yes, things went swimmingly until their boss showed up."

"I'm only saying..."

"I know what you were saying." He eased Diego into a chair and slid a finger along his wrist. He winced.

"It's not that bad," Diego protested. "I think. Tired, mainly. Anyway, stop scowling, this was not your fault. There was no other choice. You know that."

Gilberto smiled sadly. "I know you've wanted this chance for months!"

"I confess that I did," Diego said, smiling blissfully despite his exhaustion. "And it was marvelous. Toronado is amazing, even in the dark. He never took a wrong step."

"Diego, you can't - "

"I know that. I know. I won't - "

"I wish you could."

"Are you going to yell at me?" Felipe interrupted, unable to contain his anxiety any more.

"What was that?" Diego asked, looking up.

"No," Gilberto said. "It was our bad plan that nearly got you caught. You had no good choices, so we can't fault you for a bad one."

Diego took a deep breath. "And we did make a terrible hash of it. It turned out well, but only by the grace of God..." He shifted unsteadily to the bed.

Gilberto snorted and started arranging Diego's pillows. "The grace of Grey Wing's integrity, I think. It's enough to make a man rethink his position on Rousseau, isn't it?"

"Not much," Diego said happily. "A little, maybe. Mostly not."

"All right, mostly not," Gilberto conceded. He checked Diego's pulse again.

Diego ignored him and smiled at Felipe.

~tbc


	7. Feb 3, 1814

**February 3, 1814**

It was afternoon and pleasantly warm in Don Alejandro's rose garden. Felipe moved among the blossoms, removing the old heads from the show plants and absently popping any stray insects he found into the empty wine bottle he carried. This time of year there weren't as many as bugs as he'd like. Spiders particularly would be nice, but you only found the big fat ones in august.

Behind him Diego sat in the sun. He had the Shakespeare open in his lap, but his eyes were closed. For the last three days he'd been pretending to be more interested in some odd literary comparison than in painting or riding into town for lunch at the tavern or taking walks in the garden. So far Felipe thought he was doing a pretty good job of pretending that 'exhausted and slightly dizzy' was actually only 'distracted and moody.'

The concealment was helped by the fact that Don Alejandro and Gilberto had been out all day, every day, helping to sort out the chaos leaving all those hoof-prints had made of the range. Strays were scattered from one end of the rancho to the other. They left at dawn and got home after sundown. Gilberto had been so tired he hadn't gone out as Zorro once, although the alcalde was stubbornly riding the hills with parties of lancers searching for some sign of him. The reward for Zorro had been raised from seven hundred and fifty pesos to one thousand.

Tonight, Gilberto was planning to toss a bottle full of insects through the alcalde's bedroom window.

There was a grey lizard sunning itself on the garden wall. Would it eat so many of the bugs that it would make the surprise _less_ effective? It was small enough to fit in the bottle...

He glanced at Diego. Probably he was awake, but Felipe wasn't going to ask his advice. Diego disapproved of the bug plan because it was "pointless and childish." Gilberto had responded that it would suit Ramone very well, and Diego had been a bit prim about the issue ever since. Ah, well. Felipe scooped up the lizard and popped it into the bottle.

"Hola, Don Diego! Good afternoon."

Startled, Felipe leapt upright and then scrambled franticly to keep from dropping the bottle. When he steadied, he looked up to find Father Benitez looking at him from over the gate. He grinned sheepishly.

"Ah, Felipe. I didn't see you."

"Father Benitez," Diego said, setting his feet to rise. "Please, join us."

Pushing open the gate, Father Benitez said, "Don't get up, Diego. You'll have to forgive me for barging in to your garden."

"No, you're welcome as always. On you way somewhere, I assume?"

The priest pulled one of the simple cane chairs closer to Diego's and sat down. "Not at all. I'm looking for you."

"Oh?"

"Your Maria was in town this morning. She mentioned you'd been feeling a little low."

Diego glanced at Felipe. Apparently they hadn't been quite as discreet as they'd hoped. Felipe withdrew his handkerchief and used it to stopper the bottle so the little captives didn't get out, and then pulled up a chair on the other side of Diego.

"It's nothing serious," Diego said. "I may have overextended myself a bit, but I'm doing better."

Father Benitez became more serious. "Truly? I thought perhaps...The strain must have been terrible, when word came that Don Gilberto and Zorro and the sergeant..."

Diego shook his head quickly. "I never believed they were dead. I was never told they were in danger."

"Wise," he conceded, glancing at Felipe. "But how did they keep it from you?"

Diego smiled. He had a look Felipe couldn't name. "I imagine they couldn't have, but I didn't happen to be at home when word came. I'd gone riding. Rather further and harder then I'd intended, actually. Part of the reason I'm not myself at the moment is that I'm still a bit sore. Apparently all the sitting around this past year has made me soft...Father? Is something wrong?"

The old man's eyes were almost comically wide, but there was nothing at all amusing about his expression.

"Father?" Diego sat forward worriedly.

Slowly, Father Benitez sat back. "I had convinced myself that I had been wrong. That you would not, _could_ not be so stupid...that even if it were possible - which obviously it was not - you would never be a party to something so dangerous, so pointless, so utterly contemptuous of human life - "

Felipe shoved the bottle of bugs under his arm and said desperately, "No! It wasn't his fault! Diego would never endanger all those people. I didn't do what they told me to do! They were too _close _and I was _afraid_ - "

"Felipe, child, what in the world -!" Father Benitez gasped.

"It was my fault! Diego wasn't stupid! He would never do anything like that on purpose! It was me!"

Gently, Diego reached out and laid a hand on Felipe's shoulder. Felipe stilled.

"I see. Somehow this was _your_ fault, child?" Father Benitez shook his head. Then a thought seemed to occur to him. He reached across Diego and gently took the bottle. He set it aside without commenting on the contents. Then he took Felipe's hands and held them in the light.

The shallow cuts and prickly scrapes had faded nicely to whitish scars and flakes of dead skin. When even a priest's hands were calloused and scratched from gardening and caring for animals, most of the remains of Felipe's injuries were unnoticeable. Except for the huge purple bruise on the heel of his left hand at the base of his thumb. And, if he cared to look, there were several suspicious scrapes on Felipe's face.

Felipe closed his eyes.

Diego said softly, "It went wrong. This Grey Wing, he was incredibly fast, and he missed nothing. Gilberto said he had never seen anything like it. It was...it all went wrong."

Father Benitez squeezed Felipe's hands and released them. As he sat back, he crossed himself and dropped his eyes. "It hardly seems possible. Don Gilberto was in the mine, and...Diego, you _couldn't_ have. You haven't the stamina. You might have killed yourself..."

At this Diego looked a little offended. "Apparently stamina is less necessary than _will_. And if you can think of another course of action, even in hindsight, I would like to hear it."

Father Benitez sighed. "No, the mere idea of doing yourself irreparable harm wouldn't stop you." He crossed himself. "I cannot even say you were wrong. I...There is nothing I _can_ say, is there?"

"Well...the lecture on stupidity wasn't completely misplaced," Diego said, smiling a tentative olive branch. "We were not prepared for Grey Wing. That we didn't lose everything one way or another...it must have been a miracle."

"One I will be giving thanks for at mass," the priest agreed. "Now. With this new information in mind, perhaps...we could begin again?" he took a deep breath. "Maria mentioned you have been feeling poorly?"

"I've been a bit dizzy," Diego admitted.

"Breathlessness?"

"No. For which I'm grateful."

"Spells?"

"Yesterday right after breakfast, but it only lasted half an hour."

Father Benitez quickly performed the examination Felipe had seen so many times before.

This time he couldn't be calm about what Father Benitez might find. Felipe had tried very hard not to think what Diego had done or how badly it might have turned out, but Father Benitez had said it aloud: Diego might have died. He might still have done himself irreparable harm. Felipe's palms were sweaty and his throat felt horribly tight.

Felipe had already checked Diego twice today. His pulse was still not _quite_ steady or strong. They had been slowly increasing his medicine, but it hadn't helped yet. Diego had suggested switching to _cinchona_ or aconitum. When Diego had been taking them last summer, Felipe hadn't read the pharmacopeia. He'd had no idea how dangerous those drugs were. Now he knew better, and the thought terrified him.

"Are you eating well, Diego?"

Diego shrugged. Felipe shook his head firmly. Diego looked distinctly ungrateful at this helpful clarification. "I haven't been hungry," he said.

"And sleeping?"

"My heart has been behaving itself at night - "

Slowly the priest shook his head. "I asked if you'd been sleeping."

"Not well."

Felipe startled. That was a surprise. If Diego wasn't sick, of _course_ he was sleeping well.

"I keep...thinking," Diego said.

"Nightmares?"

"No."

That earned him a doubtful look.

"No, honestly." Diego nodded at Felipe. "Neither of us."

"You're positive that Felipe is sleeping through the night? What has he said?"

"Nothing." Diego's gaze settled on the top of the adobe wall enclosing the garden. "But I would have heard, if he were in distress."

"Because you have been lying awake, listening."

Diego didn't deny it.

Felipe slid out of his chair and knelt on the paving stones at Diego's side. He laid his smaller hand on top of Diego's.

"And I suppose you never stopped to consider the wisdom of allowing yourself to indulge in worry and regret?"

Diego blinked. "Wisdom?"

Patiently, Father Benitez said, "You used yourself ruthlessly a few days ago, depleted every scrap of strength you had. And now, how can you build yourself up again? You won't sleep, you barely eat, you corrode yourself with worry - I know; you feel unwell, and that makes everything more difficult. Diego. That is just too much to ask of your heart. It can't keep up. That's why altering the medicine doesn't help, I think. It doesn't remove the problem."

"My current weakness is my own fault then," Diego said heavily.

"I am not judging you. What you did was remarkable. You held off two lancers, kept your head clear enough to judge the use of explosives...You've only been back on that elderly saddle-horse for a few months: to ride the most aggressive stallion in the whole territory over the ridge and back at the best speed he can make? I'm astonished you can move at all." He smiled. "It is impressive you can sit. Hmmm. Discomfort on top of exhaustion and not sleeping."

"The lancers were more cooperative than perhaps they have let on," Diego murmured.

Father Benitez ignored the comment. "And now you are surprised that you feel so depleted? I will send Carlito out with a strengthening tea. You must drink a full liter of it every day...not all at once, naturally. Slowly. And you must eat. I know, you never gave it any thought before falling ill, and you've gotten out of the habit, doing so well these last few months. Small meals, nothing too demanding to digest. Meat, always, but never very much." He glanced at Felipe and frowned. "And he must sleep. Does he worry when Don Gilberto is out? Hmmm." He lifted the bottle and handed it back. "Perhaps you'd best let these go for another day then."

Immediately, Felipe withdrew the handkerchief and laid the bottle on the ground.

"You will be all right, Diego. I think you've done no permanent harm." He thought for a moment. "Baths. I wish I could say slightly warmer than usual, but keep it the same. I'll send some liniment with Carlito as well. And as soon as the tendency toward dizziness recedes, I expect you to start walking in the garden again."

"I will follow your advice in every detail," Diego promised. Felipe judged him to be quite earnest.

"Now, and if the topic upsets you, I will cease. But there is another matter that concerns me."

"Certainly," Diego said.

"Was I correct in thinking that Felipe's little friends were a gift for our alcalde?"

Diego nodded.

"Has his temper run away with him?" He was not talking about the alcalde.

"He is angry, but he has not lost perspective."

"This particular...gesture...seems pointless and petty."

Diego sighed. "Calculatedly so. He believes Ramone is simply too dangerous to leave in place...that it is only a matter of time before either greed or incompetence causes a disaster that we cannot repair and perhaps won't even survive." Diego paused. "He will not admit this but...All these months, seeing the results of the alcalde's..." he glanced at Felipe and tripped over his words, "enthusiastic cruelty, it has filled him with an outrage and a thirst for justice...I think his morality was mainly philosophical before. Based on reason, not on compassion. His compassion, when it does come into play... overwhelms him. He has seen too many whippings, watched too many farmers working off their taxes by turning the millstone like mules. He cannot bear it. He means to see Ramone gone, and he is going to push him until he does something stupid enough to accomplish that."

"A dangerous path," Father Benitez murmured.

"And in my opinion not necessary. Ramone is under control."

"He may be contained, Diego, but he is not under control. I can see why Zorro is tempted to force an end to this. The idea...might well work." He sighed. "I will speak to your brother. You need another week undisturbed in order to recover. His plans will have to wait."

Being a priest, Father Benitez suggested they pray then. At once, Diego eased down onto his knees. Of the Latin that followed, Felipe only recognized only the first three prayers. After that...it might have been anything. Reading it he could probably have followed along, but spoken Latin was impenetrable.

It was rhythmic and rather musical. With Father Benitez here helping and reassuring Diego, it was quite easy for Felipe to give himself over to quiet gratitude and humility.

The prayers drew to a close, and Father Benitez blessed them both and set a hand under Diego's arm to lever him into the chair. Diego's shoulders and jaw were relaxed now and he was breathing more slowly. Felipe wondered if he heard something in the text of the prayers that had calmed and consoled him. Or perhaps it was one of the little miracles the father was always seeming to manage.

"Do you think you could rest a bit, Diego?"

Diego smiled sadly. "I've been such a poor host already."

"Felipe will keep me company. I'm sure we have plenty to talk about."

Diego nodded. "Perhaps that would be best."

They made sure Diego was comfortable in the chair and moved further toward the back of the garden. These roses weren't completely for show; the best pods were left to swell and grow for tea. Father Benitez noticed at once and ran his hands reverently over the darkening bulbs. "The quality is exceptional."

"How many will you like? I will tell Don Alejandro."

Father Benitez laughed. "I was not _hinting_, child."

Felipe considered and then explained carefully. "He would give you anything. All of us would do anything you asked."

"What do you...I see. You mean because I have been some help to Diego."

Well, obviously.

Father Benitez sighed and dropped a blessing on Felipe's head. Felipe wasn't sure why. "There are some teas I make from rose hips that are very useful, so I won't refuse if a gift is offered...but let remind you that Diego and his brother have done every bit as much for me as I have done for them? All right? Now." He motioned to a large, oddly shaped rock that Don Alejandro had kept in the garden. When they were working here he often set his pruning tools on it. Now, Father Benitez gathered aside his cassock, hopped onto the rock and patted the spot beside him. "I think we have some things to talk about."

Felipe scooted on and turned sideways: you could not easily sign to someone who was beside you.

"The first thing you need to know is, I was not just being optimistic for Diego's sake. I think he will improve very quickly."

Felipe nodded gratefully.

"When Carlito comes with the tea you must follow the instructions exactly, and Diego must drink at least a liter a day. There will be a second tea in the packet, for sleeping. But don't use it tonight. If Diego can get some rest on his own, let him alone. If he doesn't sleep tonight..."

Felipe nodded that he understood.

"I can still scarcely believe it. Felipe, that mine must be twelve miles away by road, and it's not much of a road - "

Felipe gestured to the southeast. "Closer in a straight line."

"Over that ridge, which is hardy more believable. I still cannot imagine how he did it!"

"Diego is very brave."

Father Benitez closed his eyes and crossed himself. "I had convinced myself I must have imagined...everything. Zorro could not have rescued the search party if Don Gilberto was trapped inside." He shook himself. "Well. It doesn't matter what is possible, only what has happened. I assume that you were the decoy they were all chasing? And you were in the mine when the cave-in..." he drew Felipe forward and began to crawl the tips of his Fingers over Felipe's head. Felipe tried not to flinch has he touched the cut under his hair that had bled so badly.

And then he was being pushed back and Father Benitez was peering almost suspiciously into his eyes. "Hmmm. Dizziness? No? Headaches or any trouble seeing?"

It took Felipe a moment to realize what he was talking about. "I'm not addled," he said.

"And have the twins confirmed this, or have you adopted Diego's bad habit of diagnosing yourself?"

Oh. Well. "They've been watching me very carefully. I think they would know..." Which was not quite what Father Benitez had asked, but was the best Felipe could offer.

"'They peer at you excessively...so they would have noticed...if you had broken your brain?'" he repeated. "Very well. You need not tell me, but I am curious...if you were caught in the cave-in, when did you escape? Surely you didn't wait until everyone was gone..."

Felipe shook his head vigorously. "Gilberto knew a small opening. He got me out and sent me..." _to get Diego. Instead of letting me stay to help him escape, he tried to get air to the others and sent me for Diego. They both could have died. They both very nearly did._ "It was my fault! I couldn't do what they needed me to do, and I was _stupid_, and I couldn't - "

Father Benitez caught his hands and shook his head firmly. "You are blaming yourself for the disaster? No. You did what you were asked to do as best you were able. No one can do more than that. And the good news is, as soon as Corporal Eddo's arm mends, the harm will be done with. Diego will recover. Gilberto is fine. Zorro's secret is safe. There is no reason to regret, only to be thankful."

Felipe managed to nod. He didn't want to argue with this, and it was surely wrong to think he should...

"Now. Is there anything else we should talk about? You've had a difficult few days. Is there anything you need?"

Felipe asked for confession.

"But, child, it wasn't your fault. You have nothing - oh. Of course, other things must have happened as well in the last few weeks. Here then:" he gave a blessing and folded his hands to wait.

And now, faced with it, Felipe was filled with dread. He dug a scrap of paper and a stub of charcoal from his sash and wrote, "Impiety. Doubt."

Father Benitez's brows rose. "I need a bit of context."

Felipe took a deep breath and slowly,_ slowly_ drew the answer in the air, pausing for Father Benitez to decipher the story.

"A few days ago, yes...before the mine? Yes, and Diego was very ill. And... someone - Oh, Don Alejandro was praying...and you couldn't pray. I see. Why couldn't you - you were angry. Surely not at Diego. No. You were angry at God. For making Diego ill, I suppose?"

Felipe nodded. At least the priest didn't sound completely shocked by what he had done.

"It isn't an unusual response. Or even hard to understand."

"A sin!"

"Hmmm. Perhaps. Consider this: I am quite sure you are right, and if the Lord chose, He could have placed us in a world with no possibility of pain or loss or illness."

Well, he had fall in into that trap. Felipe knew this lesson. "He did. Paradise. We fell."

"Only because He gave us the possibility, endowed us with just enough reason and curiosity and vision to lead ourselves astray."

Felipe drew back. To hear a priest talk this way! Lightening might strike them dead.

Father Benitez chuckled at his expression. "Sounds simple enough, doesn't it? But tell me this: What kind of creatures would we be with so little reason and curiosity and vision? Who would Diego be, if he lived a life with neither trials nor puzzles? We live in this fallen world where there is misery and fear and injustice and weakness and death...but we have minds to apprehend this world, to solve the mysteries, to treat the diseases...we have kindness so that we can comfort each other...we have the word of God to guide us...Yes, life is very difficult, but we are not bereft."

Put that way it didn't sound so bad. But still, he remembered Diego's exhaustion and desperation and knew it would not be the last time.

"Would Diego want a life that was simple and meaningless? A life where there was nothing to be learned, where there was no growth? Where nothing died or changed? That is Heaven, Felipe, and while I have every expectation that someday Diego will be there, it doesn't seem to me that he is a particular hurry?"

No, Diego wasn't ready to die. Even if living was very hard sometimes...

"The Lord has not abandoned him, any more than he has abandoned you." And then to a list of prayers in contrition for the doubt, Father Benitez assigned him to compile a list of bad events that had good effects whatsoever. It was an odd penance, but...perhaps it was about learning perspective. Diego's illness was not the only tragedy in the world.

After that they talked about plants: the herbs in the kitchen garden, the weeds growing in the rocks outside the fence, the trees across the road. The priest knew much more than the pharmacopeia and it was much easier to learn when confronted with a leaf or bud than a diagram.

"But I've only been in this part of the world a little while. The wild plants are quite different. I have too much to learn myself."

They talked about poultices - for slowing bleeding, for fighting infection, for bringing down swelling - until Diego woke and joined them.

_~tbc_


	8. Sept 7, 1811

**Sept 7, 1811**

"_In the brightness, the heat, my thoughts are burned away, my uncertainties are forgotten.  
__One step forward into the cold sea and that icy reality will bring me back.  
__The truth may shift like sand, but each grain is as hard as the weathered boulders  
__That pound the surf to foam." _

Gilberto could have recited that one himself. Diego wrote his poetry out loud, and he fused endlessly with every particular word and phrase. He was amazingly patient.

Gilberto was not. The process was unbearably tedious. Perhaps that was why he didn't write poetry. A more honest answer - and he didn't mind admitting it to himself - was that Gilberto never expected to do it quite well enough to be one of the students Dona Luisa invited to read at her salons. And Diego's verse was the best in the room (at least, Gilberto thought so...it _was_ possible that familiarity and affection was affecting his judgment). Competing with him would just place him - with every other aspiring poet in the room - in Diego's shadow. Diego already outshone him in music, painting, engineering, fencing... Why add to the list?

"_I feel the wind, but I do not see it. I see the fish jump, but I do not hear them.  
__Silent, they leap from water to air to water again, certain of their landing.  
__I long to know what they know and I do not.  
Perhaps I can only find it by leaping from the shore." _

"He is amazingly earnest," said a low voice at Gilberto's shoulder. He turned and looked down (how had he not noticed how short the man was when they'd met in the ring?) to find the cadet, Julian Hidalgo. He was smiling a little and sipping at his wine. Gilberto was surprised to see him. They had never encountered him at parties before. The few rumors Gilberto had heard implied that Hidalgo was quite poor.

"That isn't a criticism. He makes the colonial backwater sound so compelling I almost wish I lived there." He smiled wryly and lifted his glass just a little.

Gilberto had no idea how to answer that. Was he trying to be obnoxious? People who were trying to be vile weren't usually so cheerful.

"Oh, you're not going to take offense, surely."

"We already know who the better swordsman is," Gilberto answered, finally finding his voice.

Hidalgo laughed silently and raised his glass again. "You'll beat me at Mostoles...If not sooner. Las Rozas next month?"

Gilberto turned his face back to the front of the room, but leaned sideways to whisper, "In that case, why not just hand me the medals now?"

"Ha. I intend to make you work for it."

"You seem quite at peace with the idea." Too much so. But if this was a trick, Gilberto didn't see the point of it.

"Someone better always comes around. It is enough to be great - and prepared and careful. Besides, the competition ring?" he shrugged. "Careers are made in war, not in games."

"You can't mean - "

"Hush. I'm listening." He nodded toward the front of the room, where poor Diego was trying to give Gilberto a quelling look while not interrupting his recitation.

_~tbc_


	9. Feb 15, 1814

**Feb 15, 1814**

Diego was in a talkative mood. The whole way back from town he moved from one topic from another. Politely, he held the reins of the gig in case Felipe wanted to comment. Less politely, he didn't leave room in the conversation for anyone else to talk. Not that Felipe had much to say about the current topic (how to mix a really vivid violet paint) or the previous topic (the American democracy experiment) or the topic before that (kite making). It was good, though, to have Diego in such a cheerful and energetic mood.

He'd been to the tavern. It was only supposed to be for lunch, but it had been a quiet day in town and Victoria had challenged Diego to a game of chess...in the end, they'd spent most of siesta playing. Diego had been very polite and correct the whole time, of course. Not a word too personal or overly charming. He'd enjoyed it, though. Thoroughly. And now he was cheerful and chatty.

Felipe was pleased. Diego had been doing very well this past week; painting again and riding and even - only once, since that was all Don Alejandro would allow - taking a turn sitting up with the lambing.

A few days before, Gilberto, satisfied with his brother's recovery, had tossed a sack of rats into the alcalde's bedroom at the cuartel. To hear Victoria tell it, he was all but frothing at the mouth, the alcalde was so enraged. For days now he had had the lancers swarming the hills searching for Zorro. In addition, any civilian who brought the Fox down would receive not only the reward but a five year tax amnesty. Don Emilio and a few of the poorer farmers had apparently taken him up on his offer. Search parties also roamed the territory hunting for Zorro.

Don Alejandro had ridden up to Santa Barbara for a few days to do some business before the spring round-up. Gilberto was taking advantage of his absence to race across the countryside with Toronado, leading the search parties in circles. He was having fun, and even Toronado was as content as Felipe had ever seen him: he thrived in the exercise.

"What do you say, Felipe? Shall we go out to the lambing pens? Felipe?"

Felipe blinked. He hadn't expected he'd have to respond any time soon. He shook his head. "Later. You should rest a bit."

"It's a short walk. And I feel fine."

"Later. I need to water the flowers out front. And I haven't done my homework." Felipe braced himself for the argument that would surely follow.

Diego didn't argue. He stared at the horsetails in front of the gig for several long seconds and then said, "I concede."

Felipe winced.

"Don't. I hate the fact that you need to manage me. But you're careful, and I can't fault that..."

"You feel good, and you want to do everything. I understand."

Diego squeezed his shoulder. The rest of the trip was a bit awkward, but they were almost home, so it didn't last long. Little Pepe came out to help with the gig, and Felipe shooed Diego into the house.

He really did have to water the flowers out front: hanging baskets and the beds beside the house. And then a commentary for history. Which he was not looking forward to. Kings.

A horse trotted into the front courtyard, and Felipe looked up. His breath left him all at once. Toronado. Carefully, he set down the watering can and hurried over. He ran his palm over the silken flank. Toronado was unmarked, lathered a bit, but whole.

Felipe patted the broad nose and ran into the house. This was bad. Oh, this was _so _bad.

Diego was in the library. He had slipped out of his shoes and put his feet up. He was being good, and now Felipe had to tell him...

Oh, God.

Diego looked up.

Felipe swallowed.

"What's wrong?"

"Toronado. Outside.," Felipe answered miserably. "Alone."

Diego went very still. Then he slowly breathed in and said, "Fetch my riding boots and your bird gun. Then saddle Viking and Sunshine. Please don't argue."

Felipe didn't. He ran.

Still, by the time they returned to the font, Toronado was gone. Diego didn't seem dismayed by this. "I can follow him," he said. "Go get the horses."

Felipe was leading Viking and Sunshine to the front of the house when another horse - not Toronado - came racing in. Zeus. Jose Macias hadn't even pulled up before he was calling to Diego, "Where is your father?"

Diego looked only innocently curious. "Santa Barbara. It will be at least three more days before he comes back. Jose, what has happened?"

He cursed under his breath. "Don Gilberto, then?"

Diego shook his head. "Not at home." He fixed Macias with a stern but pitting glare. "You might as well tell me."

Slowly, Macias dismounted. "That idiot Alicio has gotten himself into..."

"What has he done?"

"Apparently he has Zorro, injured, in his barn. He has gone to fetch the alcalde."

Jose Macias and Alicio Turron both lived to the north of de le Vega land and east of the mission. Until recently, both had been heavily in debt to Don Alejandro, but Macias had been racing Zeus at the presidios all fall. For prize money, not betting, and he'd bought himself clear. Alicio didn't have a racehorse, though, and he'd regularly been with the men who hunted Zorro for the reward.

"Alicio captured Zorro?"

Something in Diego's face must have alarmed Macias because he said quickly, "Patron, please. He is an idiot, but he is desperate. If Zorro is there, the soldiers will trample the fields and scare his cows dry, and if Zorro is actually captured, well, some of his neighbors may be _very_ angry. And if Zorro is not there when the acalde arrives Alicio will probably be whipped. At least. Or fined. He has no one to speak for him or witness..."

Diego sighed theatrically. "I understand. Yes, I suppose it was right to come to my father." He turned to Felipe. "We can go hunting in the marsh another day. I am sorry."

Felipe shrugged earnestly.

Diego sent Macias on his way and called Tomas over. "Maria is visiting her son. Please kill a chicken and run it over. My gift. Then, with everyone gone all day, you might as well take the rest of the day off. Go have a meal at the tavern..." Diego slipped him a couple of pesos.

When they were alone again, Diego took Viking's bridle and stroked his nose. "When we bring Gilberto home...when we bring Gilberto home, it is best to have as few people here as possible. And God knows, Maria is too smart, pays too much attention..."

That was true. Felipe did _not _say that they might not be bringing Gilberto home. The alcalde might capture him this time. Or he might be very badly hurt. He might...

"Explosives?" Felipe asked.

Diego shook his head slowly. "Without Toronado I cannot impersonate Zorro. If I the best I can do is sow chaos as Diego de le Vega, then that is what I'll do."

"You can't - but - _I _could -well, _something_ - "

Diego leaned down. "You will not be caught carrying explosives."

And that was the end of the discussion. They mounted and hurried north on the road. Viking was large and had a ground-covering stride. It was all Sunshine could do to keep up. If Diego had decided to risk going even faster, Felipe wouldn't have had a prayer of catching him.

Z

Half the garrison seemed to have invaded the dusty little farm in the hills. Felipe made himself count them because it seemed cowardly not to. Twenty, so yes, half the garrison. They had dismounted and were milling around, going back and forth between the side of the house, the stable, and some central point Felipe couldn't see.

Felipe looked up at Diego. He seemed...irritated. He rode right up to the alcalde and said tartly, "Sir, I must object."

The alcalde rolled his eyes. "Of course you must. I am pursuing an outlaw. There is no chance that you intend to do anything _reasonable_." He seemed almost cheerful. "Very well. What is your objection?"

"You're going to burn the barn," Diego said, and Felipe realized that _that_ was what the soldiers were doing: collecting wood in a pile in the center of the yard and scattering a thick line of hay all around the weathered stable.

"I see no point in risking my men unnecessarily," the alcalde answered solemnly. "Not that this is any of your business."

"Alicio owes my father a great deal of money. He can hardly pay it back if you burn down his farm."

"He'll be compensated. And with the reward money for Zorro, he can repay all his debts!"

Alicio ran forward and grabbed Diego's stirrup. "Don Diego, please. Zorro has a hostage. My wife is in the barn with him! She'll be killed!"

Diego tisked loudly. "The unnecessary death of a civilian - a woman - won't look good on your report to territorial capital, either."

"People die all the time. Another regrettable loss to that outlaw Zorro."

Diego nudged Viking closer in so that he was looking directly into the alcalde's face. "You are the most vile man I have ever met. You have no respect for people's lives, let alone their property or freedom. You have no compassion, no sense of justice, and very little competence."

Felipe was astonished. Diego had been calm, _thinking_, irritated at most. How had he so quickly lost his temper? To_ say_ such things -

He was still saying them. "In pursuit of your own greed and power you leave a wreckage of misery and poverty and hopelessness. And in your exercise of power you - "

"De le Vega! Am I going to have to arrest you for treason? Again?"

Mendoza had come close enough to hear that last and now he rushed up. "Al-Alcalde. Surely we do not have time._ Zorro_, remember - "

Diego ignored him. "I assure you, this is not treason. I am completely loyal to the king and the colonial government. I have the utmost respect for the law and for your official position. My contempt is completely personal."

For a moment both the alcalde and Mendoza stared at Diego in astonishment.

The alcalde laughed thinly. "You're jesting. Surely. There's no honor in cutting down an invalid."

"Assuming you could. I'm much stronger now than I was last summer. And I brought over a dozen fencing medals home from Spain." He turned to Mendoza politely. "Sergeant, may I trouble you for the loan of a sword? I have gotten out of the habit of wearing one."

Felipe went cold. _He'll have to kill him very quickly_, he thought. Only death would dissuade the alcalde from burning down the barn with Zorro inside. But Diego could only walk uphill for a minute or two without having to stop and get his breath. He could never win a fight that lasted more than that...

Mendoza was horrified. He shook his head weakly. The alcalde sputtered. Diego just looked implacable.

Shouts from the barn interrupted them. The alcalde turned so quickly he nearly lost his seat. He went red and bellowed, "No! You idiots! I was _bluffing_!"

The soldiers had lit the hay stacked around the barn. Although the weather hadn't been horribly dry lately, the _hay_ was dry and the wood of the barn was old. The fire was already leaping.

Screaming, Alicio ran toward the barn doors, kicking aside the burning hay. The doors were barred from the inside, though, and two of the lancers quickly hauled the frantic man back and set about putting out his smoldering pants.

The alcalde was riding back and forth, yelling orders, cursing the lancers, demanding Zorro come out. Mendoza was at the well, waving his arms and shoving buckets of water into the arms of his men. The fire had spread all the way around the building, though. Felipe couldn't imagine they would get it extinguished.

Felipe wrapped a hand around Diego's arm and vowed to himself that he would not let go, no matter what.

He broke that promise immediately: it was only two or three seconds later that Toronado came thundering into the midst of the barnyard, screaming and kicking.

Several of the lancers who were still mounted started toward him. Diego nudged Viking slightly forward, and two of the lancers dodged him, collided badly, and one of the horses went down. Toronado took a third with his rear hooves. The lancers who were on foot scattered, abandoning their pathetic attempts to put out the fire.

In the midst of the chaos, Toronado suddenly reared and spun. He ran at the barn as though he'd been called. The flames were licking up the walls, and on the far side they had made it to the roof, but Toronado paced and danced in front of the doors, alternately shying away and then trying to stand.

And then, on the roof, a dark shape was outlined. Zorro? It was gone too quickly.

The shape that replaced it was too irregular and moving too quickly to make out. It swung or slid - flew, really, but that was impossible, wasn't it? The shape landed neatly on Toronado's back and the horse sprang away from the fire.

Again lancers were sent scattering and diving out of the way. Toronado circled the barnyard once. He looked so furious and wild that Felipe suspected that Zorro didn't have him under control.

When he finally stopped it was in front of Alicio and a couple of obviously terrified lancers. It was only when they came apart that Felipe saw that the figure on Toronado's back was two people: Zorro and a woman. Zorro passed the woman into Alicio's hands, turned, and flashed away toward the hills.

The alcalde immediately began to gather his men, demanding they pursue the outlaw. Diego planted Viking in his way. "You will put out this fire before it spreads to the house!"

That started an argument, of course.

There was no point in trying to put out the fire. The barn was completely engulfed, and it looked to be spreading to the fence behind it. Mendoza finally had his men organized, though, and while the alcalde and Diego were still yelling at one another the lancers were filling buckets and soaking sacks. They positioned themselves to keep the fire from spreading.

The barn roof fell in with a roar and a wave of heat that set poor Sunshine to rearing and bucking. Felipe clung with his knees and tried to rein him in. Even when he stopped bucking, though, he wouldn't calm down, and Felipe took him to the other side of the house to walk back and forth for a minute or two. By the time Felipe was able to really look around again, the barn was a heap of burning wood and half the lancers were gone - many, probably in pursuit of their horses. Diego had dismounted. He held Viking's head while he spoke to Alicio and a woman - his wife? - who was filthy and tear-stained and bleeding from a long cut on her forehead.

Felipe waited. He didn't try to follow the conversation. He just waited.

It seemed forever before Diego remounted and led the way back to the road. He didn't look afraid or relieved either one. Just...disgusted. He seemed to be in no hurry. Felipe didn't ask any questions until they were out of sight of the little farm - and then he didn't have to. Diego kicked Viking into a run and turned from the rode to race out across the rocky ground. If Diego was following a trail, Felipe couldn't see it. Felipe followed, but he couldn't keep up, and Diego got ahead of him quickly.

Even on Viking, though, Diego couldn't hope to capture Toronado. Even if Diego was up to that kind of race, and Felipe doubted that he was. He wanted to say, _Stop. It won't help, running like this_. He couldn't tell Diego anything, though, with him so far ahead.

And it turned out he was wrong. They had barely gone a mile when they came upon Toronado nibbling at strands of grass poking up between the rocks. Gilberto was sprawled beside him, seated on the ground, leaning on his left arm. He didn't look up as Diego approached.

By the time Felipe reached them, Diego had gotten Zorro up and was heaving him back into Toronado's saddle. Felipe tried to help, but he really was too small to be of much use. Close up, though, it was clear that Gilberto was in trouble. Under the mask he was pale. His left arm was pressed close to his side. He smelled sourly of sweat and sickness. How had he been wounded? Had it already infected? Even Gilberto's good hand was shaking.

"Snakebite," Diego said through his teeth. "God help us. The first hurdle will be getting him home."

Diego rode ahead, holding Toronado's reins. Felipe rode beside, steadying Gilberto by his good arm. They would have done it the other way, but Viking and Toronado couldn't abide each other, and while they were both generally well behaved, it was five more miles home, and that was asking a bit much.

The sun was setting when they reached the ravine and addressed their next problem: Diego and Felipe should be seen returning home.

"I can make it," Gilberto panted. "Just go."

Diego, no longer able to conceal his upset, thrust the reins at him and trotted away. Once again, poor Sunshine had to hurry after.

Diego said nothing to Pepe in the stable. He went as quickly as he could through the house, but of course Felipe was faster on foot. He reached the cave first and found Gilberto feebly trying to wipe down Toronado.

Felipe turned up the lamp, took the curry comb, and motioned him away. "Sit down."

"I have him," Diego said. He put an arm around Gilberto's waist. Swaying, the two made it as far as the stairs before half-falling to sit on the first riser. Dear God, how were they going to manage this? "Tend to Toronado," Diego said softly. Felipe tore his eyes away from the stairs and got to work.

When Toronado was finished, Felipe took the lamp over to the stairs. Zorro's mask and shirt were in a heap on the floor and Diego was unwinding a stained and tattered bandage from Gilberto's arm. Felipe squatted beside them. "What kind of snake?"

"Rattlesnake," Diego said.

"When?" No one answered, so Felipe prodded Gilberto's leg. "When?"

"I don't know...after sunrise. Maybe seven-thirty?"

So maybe nine hours. "It's not very swollen," Felipe said thoughtfully, angling the light over the ugly wound on Gilberto's forearm. The punctures had been sloppily sliced.

"No, it's been tended." Diego lifted the stained bandage. Some of the stains were bright green. Felipe leaned forward and smelled. "Urine and coneflower?" he suggested.

"And salt and something else, I'd say." Diego sighed.

"Hurts," Gilberto muttered.

"I'd say so," Diego said gently. He looked up at Felipe. "What now?"

What now indeed! "Keep him here. Say he's gone into the mountains, fishing. Or to the vineyard. Or something."

"I'd rather he were warmer and cleaner than that," Diego said unhappily.

"It's very clean!"

"It is, you do an excellent job here. But we are still a dozen feet from a stable and infection is a terrible danger."

"What do we say is wrong with him?" Gilberto looked grey, and his arm was swollen to the shoulder.

"A stomach ailment," Diego said, smiling suddenly. "Perhaps something he ate. Perhaps not. No one will be eager to visit him, and the story will hold for...well, for a few days. Until Father comes home."

Felipe was doubtful, but it was decided. Diego braced Gilberto and half-carried him through the house while Felipe crept ahead, making sure the coast was clear. Getting him into bed was hard work, but it was only the beginning. Felipe ran to fetch towels and clean cloths and water. "It's too late for chickens," he said.

"There is no evidence that packing the bite with a dead chicken works," Diego said testily. He was looking unhappily at Gilberto's swollen arm.

"Old Mano used to say it worked on him. Twice. And it sounds better than what they recommend in the surgery book!" But it was too late anyway...Actually, almost half a day had passed. If Gilberto wasn't swollen up like a log and howling in pain by now, he might be all right. Or mostly all right.

Felipe crossed himself.

"Make sure Maria is still gone," Diego said. "Tell Nuela all the excitement was too much for me. I'll have broth for supper. Of course, you and Nuela and Pepe may have whatever you wish. Don't look at me like that. I know we hate using my illness as an excuse, but the circumstances are - "

Felipe shook his head sternly. "You are not having broth for dinner! Real meals!"

Diego sighed. "Well, yes. 'Berto is having the broth. You...will also bring me whatever you think 'might tempt me into eating.' It will be completely in character for both of us."

Felipe nodded. The little plan might actually work, at least for now.

He took off for the kitchen. This next part was easy. Nuela was not as clever as Maria, or as attentive. She also barely understood Felipe's signs, but her nephew, little Pepe, had lived here since he was very small, and happily translated the story of Gilberto creeping home with a wretched stomach. Pepe didn't like Gilberto much.

"Goodness!" Nuela said. "What did he eat that affected him so?" Felipe shrugged. He didn't know.

It was an easy job convincing Nuela to slip sausage and leftover mutton into the posole. Diego had said they could have whatever they liked, hadn't he? and if they made it really nice, maybe he could be persuaded to eat a little. There was nothing suspicious at all about Felipe fussing over Diego.

He took some of the hot water from the pot that was always simmering to the side and made two cups of Father Benitez's strengthening tea.

He found Diego seated on the edge of Gilbert's bed, holding the hand without the snakebite and talking softly. Probably just reassuring mutterings, since Gilberto - covered in sweat and not focusing his eyes - clearly wasn't up to participating in a conversation.

Felipe set down the cups and motioned Diego to the chair. "Sit." He passed him one of the cups of tea and took the empty place on the side of the bed. He checked for fever first. Warm, but not alarmingly so. Gilberto's pulse was rapid and weak, but no worse than Diego's when he was tired. He wondered - only briefly - if digitalis would be any help. Unless things were very bad and clearly getting worse, though, he was not going to experiment with dangerous drugs...

Gilberto's right arm was wrapped loosely in a towel. Felipe unfolded it gently. The arm was puffy from mid-palm to shoulder, but not so badly that the skin was stretched and shiny. And the color around the bite was purple like a bruise, but there were no streaks, no blackening, no green. The bite itself was leaking a little thin blood. Not unusual for snake bites. Felipe signed an apology and laid his fingers against the swollen wrist. The pulse there was faint, but definite.

"Why are you smiling?" Diego asked.

"Pulse in the bitten part is a good sign."

"My God, have you read the entire surgery book?"

Felipe shrugged. "Some of it twice." Some of it he had memorized, but not the part on snake bites. He'd have to look at it again later. He prodded Gilberto in the leg, decided he was awake enough to take some tea, and propped him up on the pillows. He managed to get him to take five small spoonfuls before Gilberto turned his face away and closed his eyes.

Diego had finished his tea. Felipe smiled to encourage this sort of cooperation. "She is already wondering who gave Gilberto food poisoning," he said.

"And we are much too polite to say," Diego answered promptly. "If people are still showing too much interest in a few days, you may suggest that perhaps he was trying to court a young lady, and she rejected him. Adding insult to injury will be nicely distracting."

"That's stupid. Nobody would refuse him."

"You would, if you were a girl. Victoria would. Perhaps the young woman was smitten by someone else? Who knows? Compounding the food poisoning, it makes for a truly terrible day."

"Embarrassing..."

"As long as they don't come to the truth, I don't care," Diego said.

"I care," Gilberto muttered testily.

"_You_ can care about getting better," Diego answered. "It will not help us if you survive the snakebite only to be hanged." He snorted. "I refuse to give you sympathy. This is all your fault. Bitten by a snake! Honestly. Shot, I would have had sympathy for."

Gilberto opened his eyes. "My fault? You're not serious?"

Felipe clapped his hands. "No fighting! Be quiet!" He gave up and went back to the kitchen and stayed away until it was time to bring them supper.

Both of them appeared to be asleep when Felipe came in with the tray, but Diego opened his eyes at once. Felipe gave him a bowl of posole and a glass of watered wine. Diego ate with a show of cooperation. His eyes kept drifting to the bed, though, and Gilberto's pale face.

Felipe checked the arm again. The same. The poison would do most of its work in the first twelve hours. After that, the issues were clearing the poison and avoiding infection and recovering from the pure havoc the venom had done on the whole body...not small worries, true, but Gilberto was strong. And with so little swelling, well, either the snake had injected very little venom or the treatment the farm wife had used was amazingly effective.

They _might_ be all right. Felipe crossed himself.

Gilberto opened his eyes and blinked at him. "Diego?" he whispered.

Felipe nodded reassuringly. "He's good. He's here."

"I saw him. Coming to help. Stubborn, stupid...dangerous."

"He's fine. I promise. He's here."

Gilberto swallowed, shifted, squinted his eyes. "There was a fire?"

Felipe nodded vigorously. "The barn burned to the ground. Like that!" he snapped his fingers. "It was awful."

Gilberto gasped and he struggled to sit. "Margarita?"

Suddenly, Diego was there, crouched beside the bed. "She is fine. Don't you remember? You got her out. She is fine."

"She was so brave...determined to help Zorro."

Diego pressed his lips together and looked away.

"Will you take some broth?" Felipe asked.

He managed to get a few sips of broth into Gilberto before he faded again. Felipe tapped his leg, but Gilberto only grunted. Sighing, Felipe set the broth aside.

Diego had returned to his chair. He had eaten about half his stew, but now he was staring vaguely into a shadowed corner. Felipe took the bowl from him and tapped his arm. "We could send for the priest. It wouldn't be unusual. No one would notice." Certainly not if they saw how pale and worn Diego looked.

Diego shook his head. "He'll come as soon as he hears. We don't need him urgently. You're right, the bite isn't bad."

"So quit looking so sad!"

Diego sighed tiredly and squeezed Felipe's shoulder and sent him off to get something to eat.

In the kitchen Nuela and Pepe had already started eating. They were gossiping cheerfully about Maria's daughter-in-law (pregnant again) and a scandalous business between Don Carlos' housekeeper and one of his indentured servants (which might not be true). Felipe let the discussion float past him. Interesting and important things were happening here in the house and no one noticed. When Tomas came back, he'd probably be abuzz with the latest news about Zorro and the stand-off at the barn and everyone would talk about that. And all the while Gilberto would be lying in his room with the poison from some snake's fangs running through his blood.

He left them as quickly as he could.

Gilberto was shifting restlessly and muttering about heat when Felipe returned. At first, he thought he was fussing about the barn fire, but when he checked there was a small fever. The arm looked no worse, but the pulse, when Felipe touched his good wrist, was fast enough to be worrisome.

He fetched a cold flannel so Diego could wipe down his brother's face and arms and went to make some willowbark tea for the fever.

He didn't get to use it. When he returned Diego was pacing anxiously and there was a thin, yellowish liquid in the chamber pot. Heaven help them, Gilberto had started vomiting.

Well. Common enough with a rattlesnake bite. Felipe would have known that even without the medical books. And this was mainly why Diego had specified a stomach aliment. No one would question Felipe carrying out pots of vomit.

But knowing it was usual didn't make it any less awful. In the next hour Gilberto threw up six times. Having to sit up and move around hurt his arm, too, and he hissed and cursed and ground his teeth.

Diego was beside himself. He sat on the bed holding Gilberto's good hand, but he said nothing. Felipe suspected Gilberto would be better off with his brother encouraging or haranguing him or even quarreling, but Diego clearly had no idea what to say.

Diego didn't talk to Felipe, either. He didn't need to, though. They both knew there was nothing that could be done to stop the vomiting or ease the pain. Nothing but laudanum would make a dent in Gilberto's agony, and even if he could keep a dose down, they couldn't risk one until the poison had passed through his system. Tomorrow, maybe before lunch, but not tonight.

When Gilberto finally quieted and passed into a light sleep, Felipe turned his attention to Diego. In the dim light, Felipe couldn't judge his color, but he was taking extra breaths and his hands were unsteady. Felipe drew him away from the bed to a chair and slid a footstool beneath his feet. The flutter at his wrist was fast and weak, worse – much – than Gilberto's. Felipe slapped his shoulder firmly: Pay attention. "You need a bigger dose tonight. Help me think. How much?"

Instead of giving a useful answer, Diego reached out and gently fluffed Felipe's hair. "So careful. So watchful. You're so good. No one could have been blessed with a more wonderful child...and I can't tell anyone."

What a horrid time to get sentimental. Felipe sighed. "Your father doesn't even know about Zorro. As long as you are proud of me...it doesn't matter what anybody else knows." Felipe shrugged and shook his head.

Diego closed his eyes. "Very proud of you."

Felipe rubbed his shoulder for a minute. "How much?" he reminded.

Diego sighed. "The safe choice, I think, is to give the usual five drops now and then check again in two hours. This is a bad night for too much."

Too much would _always_ be awful, but Felipe didn't point that out as he prepared the medicine.

Z

It was a horrible night. Felipe brought his bedroll into Gilberto's room, but he didn't get much sleep. Every half hour or so, Gilberto woke because he moved in his sleep and jostled his arm and the pain woke him, whimpering. When it wasn't that, it was a nightmare, and that was worse. He would mutter and squirm. Once he cried out for his mother. And once he bolted upright in a panic, convinced he was still trapped in the burning barn.

About an hour before dawn, Gilberto fell into a deeper sleep. Gently, Diego checked the arm. The swelling had gone down; it only stretched from wrist to elbow now.

"Go to sleep," Diego signed, nodding at the bedroll. Then he went out into the hall. When, after a few minutes, he didn't return, Felipe crept out after him.

Diego was standing in the corner of the hall. If it weren't too dark to see, Felipe might have thought he was admiring a painting hanging there. But it was too dark, and Diego was shaking...

If Felipe went to him, Diego would collect himself and pretend nothing was wrong. And that would be the smart thing, because getting all overwrought, that wasn't good, not with Diego's heart. But he had so little privacy, and he was so calm and reasonable _all_ the time. How could Felipe disturb him now?

Felipe was still trying to make up his mind when Diego took a deep breath and turned around. He wiped his eyes on his sleeve and came back to the light from the open doorway. "Don't tell him about this afternoon."

Felipe wondered what he meant. This afternoon seemed ages ago.

Apparently Diego took Felipe's puzzled look as disagreement. "Yes, I know he'll find out about it eventually. But there is no point in starting that sort of fight now. It was the best idea I had."

Oh. About trying to provoke the alcalde into a duel. Felipe thought it might be better to breach the news now, while Gilberto was too weak to yell very loudly, but that was Diego's problem. Felipe nodded.

Satisfied, Diego led the way back into the sickroom.

~tbc


	10. Feb 16, 1814

**Feb 16, 1814**

When Felipe finally woke it was full light. Diego, still dressed except for his jacket and shoes, was sprawled across the foot of Gilberto's bed, and both of them were sound asleep.

Felipe rose silently and tiptoed to the bedside. Carefully, he lifted the towel covering the snake bite. Still swollen. Still purple. No streaks, though, and it wasn't leaking blood anymore...

He leaned forward and sniffed. No foul odor. Gently, he reached out to check for fever. Warm, but not scalding.

Gilberto's eyes were open.

Felipe motioned him to be quiet. "Diego is sleeping."

There was a second's sluggishness, and then Gilberto gasped and looked around franticly. The movement jiggled the bitten arm, and Gilberto - suddenly much paler - froze.

When Gilberto could focus his eyes properly again, Felipe pointed to the foot of the bed. "He's fine. And don't move around."

Gilberto nodded tightly. "Water?" he whispered.

Gently, Felipe gave him a couple of spoonfuls. The look Gilberto gave him was so grateful that it made Felipe feel uncomfortable. "A little food?" Felipe asked. "Toast and milk? Porridge?"

Gilberto made a face but signed one-handed, "Maybe."

Felipe made himself smile and patted Gilberto's left foot (as far as possible from the injured limb) in what he hoped was a reassuring way and slipped from the room.

Maria was back. She grilled Felipe minutely as he scooped a bowl of porridge form the pot by the fire. He answered the questions briefly and unhappily and hoped she would assume that Felipe was worried about Diego or put out at having to look after Gilberto. The truth was, Felipe would much rather be questioned by Don Alejandro than Maria; she was much more likely to come up with the right questions.

When he was crossing through the front hall on the way to the bedrooms, there was a knock at the door. It didn't sound official enough for it to be the lancers come to arrest them all (ugly thought), so Felipe was calm as he tucked the tray against his hip and opened the door with his free hand.

Father Benitez. Felipe's calm shattered and his eyes misted over with relief.

"Oh, child," the little man whispered. "Is it that bad?"

Felipe shook his head vigorously.

"But nearly?"

Felipe could only nod. He couldn't think of how to explain anything, so he turned (rudely, not to greet the guest, not to make any kind of welcome or ask after things in town or offer any refreshment or do _anything_) and led the way back to Gilberto's room.

Diego was awake and sitting cross-legged at the foot of the bed talking quietly to Gilberto. At the sound of the door, he spun, panicked, but it was only Felipe and a friend. Diego closed his eyes and sighed. "You're very early."

"Carlito has been trying to convince me for weeks that he is up to leading the prayers after mass. Today seemed to be a good time to give him the chance." He frowned at one twin and then the other. "So. What have we?"

Diego uncovered the bite.

"Well. Not at all what I expected." He frowned.

The twins looked at one another, and Gilberto turned his head away.

Felipe set the tray on the desk and stepped around where he could watch Father Benitez examine the injury. "You didn't kill a chicken?"

Felipe shook his head. "The woman packed it with something, but we aren't sure what. The swelling has gone down a lot."

"And very quickly. Almost a miracle, I'd say. Wiggle your fingers."

"It hurts," Gilberto protested.

"I can guess that. Let's find out how much damage has been done below the bite, shall we? I assume you had plans to use that hand again?" It was a shock to hear Father Benitez speak so briskly. He was usually so understanding and sympathetic and _nice_. Gilberto obeyed.

His fingers moved, each one of them, though they seemed stiff. Felipe should have thought of checking that.

The Father checked smell and color and temperature. He checked the inside of Gilberto's mouth (Felipe would have loved to ask why, but he was afraid to interrupt) and the fingernails of the good hand. The last thing he did was prod the wound directly. Gilberto ground his teeth together and squirmed, but he made no sound. The scab parted slightly under the pressure and produced a thin, clear liquid streaked with white. Puss, and that meant infection. Felipe's heart sank.

"Well... This could be much worse. You seem to be protected by a guardian angel." Father Benitez frowned. "I would rather depend on good planning and appropriate care." He glanced toward Felipe and the frown faded to something kinder. "Hot compresses, perhaps alternating with ammonia. Yes, it will hurt. So we will feed him first and dose him with laudanum. Yes, I'll help you this time." He turned to Diego and his frown returned. "You will go get properly dressed, plant yourself in the library, and appear to be reading. Although sleeping would be better, from the look of you. I won't ask how much sleep you got last night."

"You can't expect me to - " Diego protested.

"I _expect_ you to behave as though your brother has a minor indisposition. Hovering and scowling as though he is on his death bed will draw exactly the kind of attention you are trying to avoid. He doesn't need you. There is nothing you can do that Felipe can't do as well, and he isn't as conspicuous. Now is an excellent time to begin."

"He's right," Gilberto whispered. "I'll be fine. Go on."

Diego's back was rigid as he left the room, but Felipe couldn't tell if he was angry or afraid or only embarrassed.

Father Benitez continued briskly, "Felipe, if you fetch the supplies we will need, I'll see about getting some food into our patient?"

Felipe didn't want to be going in and out of the kitchen all day fixing hot compresses, so he quickly set up a little brazier on Gilberto's bureau. Ammonia they had in the cave. They couldn't make or store very much of it because of the stink, but 'chemistry lessons' had produced two full jars. By the time Felipe was ready, Gilberto was sinking into the fuzzy half-sleep laudanum produced, and oh, Felipe was glad of that, because opening and cleaning the bite was going to hurt, and he really didn't want to hear Gilberto scream.

Father Benitez had quick hands. The worst was over very quickly, and Felipe finished by packing the whole arm in hot towels. "Will this draw the poison out?" Felipe asked. He had never heard of this particular cure for snakes.

"No, the infection. Oh, don't ask me how it works, I have no idea. The truth is, he's doing very well. If we are prompt and careful, we may prevent this festering..." He sighed and closed his eyes. "We will pray, but I don't think we are praying for a miracle."

Felipe nodded. He knew Father Benitez was trying to be reassuring, but infection was frightening, and even he was a little afraid.

"Now. Diego. How is he doing?"

Felipe shrugged. "You saw. He's not sick."

"That is your best observation?" The tone was gentle, but clearly an answer was expected.

"He's pale, but not dizzy. He is taking more medication, but it's working. So far. I don't know! He needs to be calm, but with everything - !" A hand on his shoulder bought the babble to a halt. Felipe swallowed hard and rubbed the back of his neck.

"All right, then. Let's go have a little talk with him."

Diego was seated in the library with an ancient history book open in his lap. He looked up as they came in and smiled too widely. "Well, Father? Your opinion of our patient?" His eyes slid to the parlor across the hall. Nuela was dusting.

Father Benitez pulled up a chair and said cheerfully. "He is utterly miserable and will be for a few days, but it is nothing serious."

Diego closed his eyes briefly, then responded, "I appreciate your looking in on him. As always, I'm delighted to have you stop by. Can I offer you something to eat? Have you had breakfast? Nuela, bring us some chocolate, would you? And some bread, if it's made?" When she was gone, Diego closed his eyes and whispered, "Truly?"

"I believe so...I have seen six venomous snake bites in my life. Three of the patients died and one of the survivors lost a leg. When I said your guardian angel was looking after you, I wasn't making a joke. A deep bite like that..."

Diego nodded. "I know it," he said.

"Hot compresses every four hours. Let him sleep as much as possible. If the arm starts to stripe or blacken, send for me at once."

"Thank you."

"He was out taunting the search parties, I suppose?"

Diego nodded.

Father Benitez sighed.

Felipe had to look away. _Not_ getting a lecture from the little priest was almost worse than a full dressing down from Don Alejandro, and in sympathy for Diego Felipe felt himself flushing.

"I had a very curious visit from Sergeant Mendoza before morning mass. He was acting as your friend, and quite beside himself. Apparently he believes you have lost your mind. Or that you have suddenly become suicidal. He's quite worried."

Diego winced. "The sin I was contemplating was murder, not suicide," he said.

"I assumed as much."

Diego leaned back in the chair and took a deep breath. "Do you know, not even last year, the idea that I would fence a man with the intent to kill would have been laughable. It was a...a game. A skill. Nothing evil."

"It is not a sin, to kill a man in a fair fight."

"Well, it is not a fair fight if one is a far better swordsman, knows his opponent's fighting style, and is planning to slice his throat open on the third stroke."

Father Benitez paused. "This is not a confession," he said gently. "And even if it were, what penance can I give to a man who only planned a crime he had not even the _desire_ to commit?"

"Not a confession, no. Except that as my friend, you have a right to be disappointed. I'm not the man either of us hoped I was."

"Ha! Wanting to kill Luis Ramone is a much more serious matter for me than for you, and still, I have thought about it. More than once, in fact..."

That brought a small smile to Diego's lips.

Father Benitez was finished being kindly, however. "You miss the point. The real problem is not how you go about your rescues, but your brother's war with the alcalde! You must see that it is completely out of hand. Two people could have _died_ yesterday - more if there had been a wind and that fire had spread."

"What can we do? Gilberto is determined to drive him out, and Zorro cannot kill him - "

"Obviously, you cannot kill him. But how many people are you willing to endanger to drive him out?" It seemed he wanted to say more, but he broke off and glanced at the hall. A moment later, Maria appeared with a tray. Father Benitez rose and greeted her. He was so cheerful and harmless! Felipe had to turn his face away, because he could not stop himself from looking shocked.

While behind them Father Benitez chatted happily about Maria's little grandchildren, Felipe set out the chocolate cups and Diego closed his eyes and breathed.

The moment Maria was gone, Diego leaned forward and opened his mouth to continue the discussion. Father Benitez raised his hand. "No, Diego. I won't argue with you any more this morning."

Diego scowled. "I'm fine."

"You're pale. Your hands are cold. If I took your pulse right now, it would be unsteady."

Diego didn't answer: clearly he couldn't argue and he was unwilling to admit the priest's point.

Father Benitez pointedly handed Diego his cup. "Don't think about your problems right now. Your brother is going to recover. Your family is safe and well concealed. Read some poetry. Sleep as much as you can. Diego. Take a day or two now, to rest."

"Or I will have no choice about resting later?"

"You said it, not I."

Diego tightened his jaw and looked away.

Father Benitez laid a hand on is forearm and squeezed. He waited silently until Diego suddenly relented and sat back in the chair.

Father Benitez smiled. "If you rest now, just think: you can stay up all night. I'm sure Felipe would appreciate the reprieve."

"Ai! A palpable hit. Perhaps a bit low..." Diego was trying to joke, but his eyes were still sad.

"Low? I am a _priest_, Diego. We are expected to arm ourselves with guilt."

"Ah." Diego nodded. "I admit I forgot."

Father Benitez leaned forward and whispered, "He will be all right."

Diego didn't answer. Father Benitez motioned Felipe to kneel. He blessed them both and began to pray.

_~tbc_


	11. April 15, 1812

**April 15, 1812**

Julian sauntered through the room and dropped lazily into the chair across the little table. "Have you been hiding here all evening?" he drawled.

"I'm not hiding," Gilberto protested. "I'm just not in a party mood."

"Not in a...Oh. I see. This little corner has such a marvelous view..."

Gilberto didn't deign to answer.

"And so much to see!" Here it came. "You've noticed the magnificent Antonina."

Gilberto shrugged.

"But one could hardly _not_ notice. That long neck, that shining hair, that perfect profile... I could make an introduction for you. She's a third - wait, no, forth cousin of mine. A grandmother on the other side was Italian - but respectable. And that branch of the family is quite wealthy."

"You're such a snob," Gilberto said without heat.

"Truly. I could introduce you."

"I've met her."

"Oh, then you've heard her lovely voice!"

Gilberto gave him a dark look. "She is as intelligent as a bowl of porridge. And she gossips relentlessly. No offense to your cousin."

"None taken."

"And not just about her rivals, or strategically, or amusingly. She just repeats things, endlessly, as though she has no _thoughts, _just pointless observations."

"Not that you have an opinion."

"So you can see I am better off admiring the lady from a distance."

"Shame. I wouldn't have minded you for an in-law. But it would never have worked. Poor Antonina would never manage in your little colony at the end of the world. No offense to your home."

Gilberto smiled wanly. "None taken."

"Still. She is a _lovely_ woman. You're certainly charming enough to turn her head. It might be amusing..."

"And then you would have to challenge me after I broke her heart! Thank you, no."

"Oh, not I. She has four older brothers."

"You're impossible," Gilberto said, finally laughing despite himself.

"So? Celebrate! You have escaped a woman who is completely wrong for you!"

Gilberto sighed. "But isn't it a shame that beauty isn't always accompanied with wisdom and congeniality? Doesn't it seem...unfair, that there are so _many_ things we desire that are unworthy or impossible or...wrong?"

"A poor way to organize the universe, if you ask me," Julian said agreeably. "But there you are."

The dancing was starting. Gilberto stared resolutely at all the graceful, beautiful people who twined around one another and refused think of things it was wrong to desire.

_~tbc_


	12. Feb 23, 1814

_Oooo. Hey. Waving to Slovakia, Russia, Chile, Mexico, Brazil, Denmark, Israel, France, England, and Hungary! I'm so glad to see you all!_

**_Feb 23, 1814_**

Felipe gathered up the scraps of food and took them to a flat rock behind the tiny coral. Birds and wild animals would dispose of them in a few hours. He poured water on the cooking fire and used a long stick to scatter the ashes. He loaded the packhorse with everything but Gilberto's bedroll, and then he roused Gilberto and packed that as well.

"Are you ready? Let me see your arm."

With exaggerated patience, Gilberto pushed up his right sleeve. The scar was ugly and a little scabby, but not swollen or hot or leaking. Felipe prodded it. Gilberto didn't react.

Well, then.

All right.

Felipe turned and mounted Sunshine.

Behind him, Gilberto said, "Thank you. I know you didn't want-"

Felipe turned and waved a hand for silence. He didn't wait, but took the rope for the pack horse and started down the hill. Gilberto would follow him.

For the last several days they'd been staying at a line shack above a little green valley they used to pasture cattle in the fall, when other grazing was hard to find.

For the first two days, until Don Alejandro came home, Gilberto had recovered in his own bed. By then the snake bite was clean and healing nicely, but Gilberto _looked_ sick and he was still very weak. There was no disguising that his right hand could barely hold a knife well enough to butter bread, even if the story of a sick stomach could have been dragged out for a few more days. And it couldn't.

So, late in the evening when Don Alejandro rode in, Gilberto met him in the parlor and put on a good show...

And early the next morning he and Felipe set out on a 'hunting trip.' It was supposed to be a 'reward' for all the extra work Felipe had done cleaning up when Gilberto had been 'ill.' A few days of much-needed time away.

Actually, Felipe _had_ done a fair amount of hunting while Gilberto slept on a rough bunk in the line shack. Hunting with his new bird gun...and fishing...and collecting berries... and wandering the hills to find cactus pears. Aside from cooking meals, there hadn't been any work to do. Gilberto hadn't needed anything but to be left alone to recover in peace. He didn't even particularly want company: Gilberto, when he was ill, was amazingly grouchy.

It would have been nicer with Diego. But, of course, as long as Gilberto was away resting halfway across the rancho, Diego wasn't worrying about Zorro or planning strategy. Anyway, Don Alejandro and Maria had promised to look after him. There was probably no reason to worry.

It had just been so _hard_ to wait.

Never mind. For the most part, it had been a quiet and peaceful few days. Fun, even, when he was out of range of Gilberto's sour mood. But now that it was time to come home, Felipe couldn't help picture problems that might have come up. He was in a hurry.

Sunshine was frisky after a long rest in a corral with grass that had been untouched for months. He all but danced toward home and he tugged at the lazy pack horse behind him. It was all Felipe could do not just to let him run.

He wanted to let him run.

When they finally came in sight of the hacienda, Felipe gave up and tossed the pack horse's lead to Gilberto so he could let Sunshine race to the barn. Don Alejandro came out as they were unsaddling the animals. Felipe handed him three fat quail and a duck. He pointed to two and signed, "Mine," although, secretly, he had caught all of them.

Don Alejandro grinned and fussed and gave them to Pepe to take to the kitchen.

"Where's Diego?" Gilberto asked.

Don Alejandro immediately sobered. "I expect him back soon. He went to the Pascal place. No, come in and sit down and get something to drink. I have some bad news."

Gilberto and Felipe glanced at each other. The worry of 'bad news' was always Diego, but he wouldn't go visiting if he was ill. So what could the problem be?

When they were sitting in the parlor drinking orange juice (a little thin and sour, since the trees were still recovering from the harsh summer and January had been unusually cold), Don Alejandro continued. "Don Antonio has died."

Gilberto sat up in astonishment. "He was younger than _you_! He was in good health!"

"He was thrown from a horse. But yes, it's been a terrible shock to everyone." He sighed. "We had the funeral day before yesterday."

"Lord, have mercy," Gilberto muttered. "That poor family. They have a wedding coming up this spring!"

Don Alejandro scowled. "And here is where the problems start! Don Emilio is being a complete and utter arse. He is making noises about refusing to allow the wedding, now that he is the head of the family."

"He can't -" Gilberto began to protest.

"He can make things very ugly, regardless of his legal rights. And he's not finished. His father's body is barely cold, and Emilio is already discharging servants and calling accounts due with renters and clients. Disgraceful, cruel..." He jumped up and began to pace. "Ha! I have been thanking God for my boys all day! You're not as interested in the stock as I'd like and Diego - But neither of you is _greedy_! Neither of you would abandon people who'd been loyal to the family for years! I think of poor Antonio, how this would break his heart - " He broke off and turned to lean against the mantle.

There was a long, tight silence.

Gilberto stood up and glided to stand behind him. "Er. Whatever it is Emilio Pascal is doing...We wouldn't. We won't. For all my faults...I know you must be worried. We always assumed Diego would be there to keep me in line - "

Don Alejandro turned quickly. "No. It's not you I'm angry at. Of course not! I'm not worried you'll turn into..."

Gilberto patted his shoulder awkwardly.

Felipe tried to sit still and wait, but the question of where Diego was chattered in his mind. He caught Gilberto's eye and signed Diego's name.

He got a quelling look in response. "Don Antonio will be missed, Father."

Don Alejandro sighed and allowed himself to be led back to his chair. "Your brother is having a little talk with Emilio Pascal right now." He ran a hand over his disarrayed hair. "Diego thought a peer might get further than, well, the senior members of the community descending in an outraged horde." He sighed again. "We might as well give him a chance. We'll be dealing with Don Emilio for decades. If things aren't even cordial from the start..."

Gilberto folded his arms and considered for a moment. Then _he_ began to pace unhappily. "Emilio Pascal. What a disaster," he muttered.

His father looked up. "Disaster? A disappointment... Heartbreaking, certainly. And a disgrace, but - "

"He resents everyone richer than he is. He resents everyone more respected than he is. He is bitter about every bit of power that he, himself, doesn't have. He has actually gone out of his way to provoke Zorro, even when that means aligning himself with the alcalde...He can make trouble, Father. He wants to. What if he were to convince the alcalde to enforce the laws that prohibit gambling in the tavern? What would that do to Senorita Victoria's business?"

"That would be foolish...all the people he'd alienate for no good reason."

"Victoria is a public supporter of Zorro. And practically a client of yours. If Emilio is showing no sense - "

"Don't overreact," Don Alejandro said. "This is personal, surely, not political. Our relations are cordial. I don't think - "

The door slammed so hard that the walls shook. Diego's voice came immediately after. "Of all the stupid, short sighted, irresponsible, arrogant - " he broke off, smiling. "Look who came home!"

Diego had his arms out when Felipe reached him. Felipe grabbed on tight and squeezed. Diego felt solid and sturdy. His arms, closing on Felipe's back, were strong. He smelled of horse and fresh air. Of course Diego was fine, of course he was.

Diego patted Felipe on the back. Felipe could feel him looking over his head, measuring Gilberto with his eyes. Gently he shifted Felipe to the side and tucked him under his left arm. Strangely formal, he held out his right hand to shake hands with his brother: testing the strength in that right arm.

The boys' eyes met only briefly, but whatever they saw there must have satisfied them. They both smiled at the same time. Then Gilberto said, "What's this about Emilio?"

Diego laughed tightly. "No, it's good to see you, let me settle down. Anyway, if I continue as I was, you'll all be nagging me not to get worked up." He went to the settee and pulled Felipe down to sit beside him.

Gilberto poured half a glass of wine and pushed it gently into Diego's hand. "We can't leave you alone for a minute, apparently..." he teased, smiling.

Then he tilted his head at Felipe. Belatedly, Felipe slid a finger around Diego's wrist. Quick, but strong and even. Felipe nodded that there was nothing to worry about.

Diego slid his wrist free. "Believe it or not," he said wryly, "Father is nearly as bad as the two of you. You don't need to make up for lost time as soon as you come through the door."

Gilberto returned to his chair. "Yes, yes, we fuss over you terribly. _Et cetera, et cetera_...So? Do tell? What did the cretin do that that has you so outraged it endangers your health?"

Diego laughed as though that were a terrible funny joke. It wasn't, not really, but Felipe realized it was the pure relief that was getting the best of both of the twins. Rarely in their lives had they been out of one another's sight for more than a few hours, and to be separated and know the other was ill...

"He is defying the will."

Don Alejandro looked up. "Impossible," he said.

Diego shrugged. "He never said so in so many words, but his implication was clear - he was proud of it, even. He is the executor, as well as the primary heir. The people he is planning to cheat are of no consequence - who will they complain to? The alcalde? We know he has no prejudice against bribes. It isn't like a couple of angry peons will get much attention from the magistrate or the governor."

Gilberto leaned forward and frowned. "What, exactly..."

"Some of his renters were to receive their little farms. There were gifts to the servants..." He shrugged again. "As far as Emilio is concerned, these people are no one, after all. Why should they get anything?"

"Gifts for the servants," Don Alejandro sounded almost awed. "How amazingly petty!"

"Oh, no Father. He's not being _petty_, only unjust and greedy. Some of these gifts were quite nice."

Don Alejandro took a sharp breath. "That horse!"

Diego nodded. "Exactly."

"What?" Gilberto asked.

"The stallion Firestar was to go to Old Santos' grandson," Don Alejandro said. "Antonio said something about it to several of us; a gift when the child turned ten or ..."

Gilberto frowned. "To _whom_?"

"The boy's mother was Julietta Rodero. You remember. She married a soldier named Alba..." Diego said.

"Oh, yes. They both died...before we left for Spain sometime. Very sad. And Don Antonio was leaving the little boy a horse?"

"Not just _any_ horse, Gilberto!" Don Alejandro protested. "Firestar is just now three a year old, but..." he shook his head. "I had my eye on him to stand stud with Dulcinea! Magnificent animal!"

"The child must be disappointed," Gilberto began absently.

"The stud fees!" His father began to pace, working up to fine lather. "I'm not the only one with an eye on Firestar. It's not a small amount of money to poor people like that. Not, by God, that I'll be paying a single centavo to that thieving whelp!" Felipe assumed he meant Don Emilio and not the little boy. "There is always Zeus, after all - "

Diego laughed. "Father, please. Don't get ahead of things. Nothing is set in stone yet. Don Emilio may still come around. Faced with the disapproval of the community...perhaps a gentle reminder of the Church...and the magistrate may be induced to take notice..."

Don Alejandro was thoroughly in a temper, though. His pacing didn't slow at all. "Diego, you know that practically speaking, the poor have no protections, no guarantees, unless the rich choose to grant them! They are dependant on goodwill and honesty and Emilio Pascal has neither!"

Gilberto cut off his next advance across the room and laid a hand on his shoulder. "No, Father, Diego is right. There _are _options, and upsetting ourselves won't help us make use of them." He smiled. "It isn't that long to supper, is it? You might be clean, but the rest of us stink a bit. Let us get cleaned up? Perhaps tomorrow you could meet with Don Sebastian? See if he has any ideas?" His eyes drifted to Diego, and unsubtle reminder that staying calm was best for everyone.

Don Alejandro clamped his teeth and nodded and dismissed them all.

It was actually several hours till supper, but the twins were delighted to be alone. Diego dragged his brother into his bedroom and shoved up his right sleeve. The scab was clean, but the scar was livid red and dead skin around the wound was still sloughing off. Diego tested the muscle under the healing skin and sighed. "Thank heavens."

Gilberto ignored all this. "Toronado?" he whispered.

Diego laughed. "Pining for you. Practically heartbroken."

"Very funny!"

"Well, he _does_ miss you...but he was getting plenty of exercise."

"You didn't ride him! Not alone!"

Diego seemed not the least bit chastened. "He wouldn't let me fall."

"And how would he stop you, if you fainted?"

"Well as far as that goes, I rode Esperanza alone to the Pascal hacienda and back. Father is satisfied I'm well enough."

Gilberto opened his mouth and shut it, momentarily stymied. Only momentarily. "On the road. Where someone would find you if you fell!"

Irritated, Diego began, "You're not my keeper - "

Gilberto went bright red with rage. "What a horrible - "

Felipe waved his arms franticly. "Stop it! Someone will hear you! Stop!"

"Forgive me," Diego murmured. "That was out of line."

"Suggesting I wouldn't notice if you died is well past out of line -" Gilberto hissed.

"I've...I've been unsettled, these past few days. I'm not used to being alone. And I kept thinking about that bite, and if it infected while the two of you were hiding..."

"_Worry_ isn't an excuse for anything. As if _you_ knew anything about worry!"

Felipe slapped them both on the shoulder. "Shut up," he gestured angrily. "The two of you are unbelievable!"

Diego blinked in surprise at his vehemence. "I think we might all be a little overwrought," he admitted.

"A little discipline, perhaps?" Gilberto said softly. "Something to settle us. Diego, if you can unpack for us - there isn't much - Felipe and I will clean up and I'll get the practice swords out. We'll have a lesson, test my arm a little. All right?"

Felipe did not protest that none of them were in a mood to be handling sharp pointy objects.

Later - much later, after a through wash in soap and cool water, an hour of practicing footwork, and a wonderful meal of roast fowl - when Diego sat in the library messing around on the piano and Don Alejandro had retreated to his office, Gilberto asked about how the hunt for Zorro was going.

Diego lifted his hands from the keys and spun on the stool. "Funny you should mention it. The lancers have resumed their normal patrols and the Alcalde has spent most of the last week out at his little ranch. It seems that nearly burning a woman alive...well, even he has limits. Everyone thinks things went too far."

Absently, Gilberto rubbed his right forearm. "Including you."

Diego folded his arms. "Argue the point," he said reasonably.

"How can I? Two people nearly died." _And one of them was me._ The words he didn't say hung in the air.

"You're going to be reasonable about this?" Diego asked suspiciously.

"Don't look so shocked. It isn't the first time."

Diego leaned forward his elbows on his knees, all but sagging with relief. "No more rats, then?" he asked.

Gilberto stood up and came to lean against the piano. "If it were only the two of us...I would never relent. Never. But there is a whole territory full of people we could drag down with us, and I won't...So. No more rats."

Diego sighed. "Thank you."

Felipe looked at them hard, but they really and truly weren't going to fight, and Felipe had something he needed to do. He got up and slipped to Don Alejandro's office and knocked quietly.

He was invited in immediately, and Don Alejandro wasn't surprised to see him. "So, did you enjoy yourself?" he asked.

Felipe returned the friendly smile that had greeted him. "I got much better at hunting," he said. And then, because there was serious business to discuss, he asked, "Diego?"

"No bad nights." And that was the most important thing, the thing Felipe had been dreading. "He didn't eat as well as ... well, but he missed the two of you, and things were very busy here so I can't say it was his health ..." He frowned. "He fainted at the funeral. And he's heavy. If there hadn't been a pew right behind us, I would have dropped him to the floor! I have half a mind to get Father Benitez to absolutely forbid him to kneel."

That would definitely be safer, but the idea was horrifying. Even the very old kneeled.

Don Alejandro nodded at Felipe's expression. "But I'm sure the Lord knows the problem as well as we do."

"People would notice," Felipe protested.

Bitterly, Don Alejandro answered, "People will notice if he cracks his head open on the back of a pew, too."

"Diego would never go along with it."

"How well I know that! And I understand. And there are so many things he _has_ given up...not even to be able to pray properly. I understand why he refuses, but..."

But it was frightening, when Diego went pale and swayed - or worse - rising during mass. Felipe nodded.

"What you wanted to know, though...he's no worse then when you left. I took good care of him."

Felipe nodded. "Thank you."

"I should thank you for getting Gilberto out of the house for a while. He's been...difficult...the last month or two."

Uh oh. Felipe had assumed no one had notice how tense and distracted the war with the Alcalde had made the man under Zorro's hat. "Grouchy," Felipe signed, shrugging. "Not new. He was always touchy."

Don Alejandro frowned. "Has he been giving you any trouble?"

Felipe shook his head vigorously. 'Bossy and irritable' wasn't what Don Alejandro meant by 'trouble,' given that it had been the default for much of Felipe's childhood. Anyway, most of the time he was more or less pleasant these days. "As long as he doesn't make things hard for Diego, I wouldn't care anyway."

"Hmmm."

~tbc


	13. Feb 25, 1814

**Feb 25, 1814**

"No. I can't do it. Stop bothering me," Gilberto said, fussing with Zorro's shiny black boots.

Felipe pushed two knuckles into his shoulder until he looked up. "Stop being an idiot. This is important!"

Diego was saddling Toronado, since Felipe was too busy quarrelling. He kept one eye on the fight while tightening the cinch. He seemed to think the whole thing was terribly funny.

"No! It's not appropriate. It is scandalous! I can't."

Felipe pointed to Zorro's clothing folded neatly on the table beside them. Since when did Gilberto refuse to do scandalous things? He had taken up a life of crime, for pity sake! He defied the local government and the army! But this one, simple thing - ?

Gilberto slammed down the boot he was holding and turned away so he wouldn't have to see what Felipe was saying anymore. "It is just as bad for Zorro to do it as for me. I cannot pay calls on a married women!"

Diego - who had been studiously staying out of it - called from Toronado's stable, "He has a point."

Felipe walked around and planted himself in front of Gilberto. "I'm not asking you to bring her flowers and take her for walks in the moonlight. I am asking for her recipe for the snake bite cure. And she will give it to Zorro if he asks. And we need it."

"It sounds very practical and your motives are pure, but I still can't do it. What if someone saw? People would talk. It would ruin her."

Felipe rolled his eyes. The nearest neighbor was half a mile away. "Who will see?"

"Oh, and honorable behavior only matters when people can see it?"

Felipe gestured fangs at him. "Next time, it might be Diego! Or your father!"

"I am not going to behave dishonorably to Senora Turron. You will have to think of something else." He gathered the folded clothing and retreated to the corner to dress.

Felipe didn't follow him. He turned to Diego instead. What could he do? "_I_ can't do it? How would I explain that I knew?"

Diego shook his head thoughtfully and fed Toronado an apple. When Gilberto - Zorro, now - finally turned around Diego said quietly, "How much do you like the senora?"

Gilberto scowled at the question but answered matter of factly. "I like her very well. She is brave and kind and intelligent."

"'Berto... "

"It's easy to be brave when you are the best swordsman in the territory...I can't imagine taking risks, if I were a peasant and a woman." He scowled. "It is very easy to say that money can't buy happiness when you have the money to buy almost everything else. The reward on Zorro is a thousand pesos, and she hid me and saved me...and only because it was the good thing to do."

Diego, looking truly miserable now, dropped his eyes and looked away.

Gilberto drew himself up and said stiffly, "She is not beautiful or important or rich, and if Senora Magdelena were free, I would offer for her tomorrow. She would improve any family she entered, ours included."

Felipe found this astonishing: Magdelena Turren was _old_, thirty at least! And she had no children, only stillbirths. Three? Four? Gilberto had lost his mind. Or he was completely turned around by gratitude. Or something.

Diego took a step toward his brother. "Gilberto, I am sorry - "

"Don't be. You always _wanted_ to marry for love...I'd be content to marry for respect."

"How is it not the same?" Diego asked.

Gilberto laughed unhappily. "All the messing around with romance, for a start. I thought once - but I was deluding myself, wasn't I? Romance." He shook his head. "And lust is even more useless, isn't it? To go mad with wanting - " He broke off and lifted his chin. "Respect is worth something, though. Too bad there are so few people who inspire it." He met Diego's gaze until Diego stepped backward. "Now. We have work to do. Shall we get to it?"

"We will be waiting," Diego said.

Gilberto mounted Toronado and rode down the passage without a backward look. Diego put an arm around Felipe's shoulders and guided him up the steps and back into the house. "Don't worry about it. Perhaps it is time for me to start a project, something not too demanding. Perhaps I will collect and document local folk remedies. Perhaps I can interest the mission or Father Benitez in the project as well. No doubt there is a wealth of local information...In the mean time, let it go."

It was still very early in the morning. The fog hadn't burned off yet and it was cool. Felipe was a little tired. They'd had a late night. Not Diego, no, he'd been fine. But Zorro had been out till midnight on errands at the Pascal and Segovia estates. Felipe had been out almost as late, sneaking a message into Victoria's room at the tavern.

Don Alejandro was already gone, an overnight trip to the vineyard to see how the expansion was coming along. Diego and Felipe went straight to the barn where Sunshine and Esperanza were waiting. The mounted up and took the King's Road south.

"Do you think Victoria will come?" Felipe asked.

Diego made a face. "Zorro sent her a note. I don't think she'd refuse him." He brightened. "Things might end fairly early. We could go in to town for lunch."

Oh. Well. That might be nice... Felipe jumped. "We can't go to town. The alcalde might be there."

Diego frowned in confusion. "_What_ about the alcalde?"

"The things you said to him! You can't go to town!"

Diego rolled his eyes. "I apologized to him - very sweetly, in fact - after the funeral. Everyone was serious and sad and it seemed, well, it wasn't the occasion to risk an argument...I explained that the idea of a wildfire panicked me into being unforgivably rude, and he condescended to be...gracious."

Felipe gave Diego a hard look.

"I promise. He's not going to challenge me if we pass each other in the street."

Well, that was something. "He won't forget. He still hates you."

Diego shrugged. "And everyone else who doesn't cower and agree. I am in no more danger than anyone else, and less than most. Now. Do me a favor: a race to the top of that little hill there."

Felipe gave him a suspicious look.

"It's only _Esperanza_, Felipe. I might not even convince her to run," Diego coaxed.

The problem was, if Felipe didn't let Diego play while he was watching, he would probably just do it when Felipe was otherwise occupied. And that would be worse. Felipe dug his heels in, and Sunshine darted forward. With a yell, Diego brought his old mare up to pace him.

It was a marvel, the things Diego could convince the placid, lazy Esperanza to do. If Don Alejandro had any idea, he would have replaced her with a plough horse or a mule months ago. The short journey to the tiny Rodero place passed very quickly and pleasantly, racing to trees or little hills.

As they arrived, old Don Roberto Segovia came up from the south. He was riding, although he was so ancient and shriveled that Felipe was impressed that he could still sit a horse. Not that he would ever say that out loud: you had to respect someone who had managed to live that long. Don Roberto was one of the few people Don Alejandro deferred to in discussions.

Diego greeted the ancient caballero politely and they fell into a relaxed discussion about the upcoming round up. Anyone listening to them would have thought they had met after church or in the tavern, instead of in the slightly muddy yard of a peasant's shack. A couple of geese yelled and flapped at the horses before flouncing off behind a bush.

There were hoof beats from the north: Victoria and Sergeant Mendoza. Their greetings stumbled a bit from surprise. "Don Diego," Mendoza said, "do you know why we're here?"

Diego produced an envelope from his sash. "I received a very mysterious invitation." He frowned. "I happen to know that what is scheduled here today is an eviction...but I don't understand why - anyone - would issue us an invitation to an eviction."

Victoria shook her head. "Mine said to bring the sergeant, but it didn't say why."

Don Roberto only said, "Hmmm."

Sergeant Mendoza looked around. "An anonymous note. You don't suppose some bandit invited us here to waylay us? Or murder us?"

"It wasn't an anonymous note," Victoria corrected. "It was from Zorro. I just don't know why he sent it." Felipe thought she sounded a little smug.

"What?" Mendoza rocked back in the saddle so violently that his horse shied. "Zorro - And you didn't tell me!"

She shrugged. "The note said not to. Don't worry, Sergeant. It is not as though _Zorro_ will waylay us or murder us."

"But - But - "

He was interrupted by pounding hooves from the road to the south: Don Emilio and half a dozen of his vaqueros. They thundered up carrying swords and burning torches. At the sight of the guests they slowed, but after a single, hostile glance, Don Emilio turned away from the little party and rode directly to the door of the house.

The door opened. The old man who stood in the doorway was hunched. He kept his eyes down and he had his hat in his hand. "Please, Patron. This is our home. We have nowhere else to go." He spoke very loudly. Felipe snuck a glance at Diego who had had a long discussion with Rodero the day before. Felipe had not been present; he'd been distracting the little boy and getting him out of they way.

"You should already be gone, you fool. This is not your home. Stand aside."

"Promises were made." Rodero lifted his chin. "Your-your father, he promised me."

"Stand aside, I said, or I'll burn this filthy shack with you in it!"

"You can't do that!" Victoria shouted. She leapt from her horse. "Shame on you."

Don Emilio turned to look down at her. "What business is it of yours? I can do what I like on my own property, Senorita. Isn't that so, Sergeant?"

Mendoza looked acutely uncomfortable. "Well, yes. Unfortunately. But..."

"You are trespassing. Go on your way." He turned back to Rodero, motioning his vaqueros forward. It seemed to Felipe that they didn't look terribly eager.

And then Zorro arrived.

The vaqueros froze. Mendoza looked around for the lancers he hadn't brought with him. Don Emilio strode defiantly forward, shoving the old man out of the way and waving his torch in the direction of the reed roof.

Zorro's whip neatly caught the torch and tossed it away. "What is it with people and fire these days? Are you lacking in sense as well as compassion?"

Don Emilio spun around. "Kill him!" he shouted at his men. "He is a wanted criminal. Kill him!"

Two of the vaqueros produced pistols, but they did not - quite - point them at Zorro.

Gilberto looked at them thoughtfully. Instead of the temper Felipe expected, he only said, "I know you are only here because you fear for your jobs and your homes."

Don Emilio was nearly dancing with rage. "Don't listen to him, you imbeciles! Kill him."

Zorro didn't even look worried. "Gentlemen, I have no wish to kill you and I have no wish to be killed. Just go home. You have my word your own homes will be safe from this man."

All but one of the vaqueros turned and rode away.

"Come back here! I'll destroy everything you own!"

The only remaining minion was holding a pistol. Zorro's whip flashed again and suddenly he was holding nothing.

Don Emilio dropped his torch and drew his own pistol. Victoria squealed. Zorro did the most amazing thing Felipe had ever seen. He turned sideways in the saddle, kicked the weapon neatly out of Don Emilio's hand and then flipped over backwards - pivoting, bending - to cut the girth on the remaining vaquero's saddle with the little knife Diego had given them for their birthday.

By the time the man had picked himself up off the ground Toronado had nipped and kicked his horse into running away. And then the huge black horse turned on _him_ next, showing teeth. The man froze.

Felipe didn't think they'd taught Toronado that. Mostly, Diego grumbled about how hard it was to get him to make _nice_ with other horses.

Zorro gave Toronado a single glance and drew his sword.

Don Emilio smiled. "Finally, you filthy bandit. I will put you in your place." He drew his sword and charged without saluting. Zorro bounced his sword neatly and smiled.

Felipe took Esperanza's bridle and drew Diego further out of the way to stand beside Don Roberto. Diego, watching the fight, gave no sign of noticing he had been moved.

The fight was quite different than the ones Felipe had seen before. Zorro didn't seem to be trying to win. He deflected and deflected and deflected and, perhaps bored with that, began to slowly dance, easing out of the way of Don Emilio's sword, leaving him to slash and swing at nothing.

It all only made Don Emilio angrier. He tried to mock Zorro and call him ugly names. Zorro didn't even seem to notice. (And really, Diego, even when he was ill, had much sharper wit, so why would Zorro be stung by this idiot?)

Rage was faltering in exhaustion. Don Emilio was still all but spitting with fury, but he was stumbling and he couldn't keep his tip up. Suddenly - casually, mockingly - Zorro plucked his opponent's sword from his hand and swept his legs, dumping him to the dust.

"So," Zorro said. "Shall we talk about mercy? Or shall we talk about honor? Or shall I just point out that you were mistaken in the assumption that your tenants and servants were helpless with no one to speak for them?"

Don Emilio only growled through his teeth.

"We can do this again and again. It will always end the same way. Next time there will be more witnesses..." He withdrew a flattened parchment from his sash. He thrust it at Don Emilio and dragged him up by the collar so he was sitting. "In the mean time, in front of _these _witnesses, you will read your father's will."

He stared at the creased bundle with wide eyes. "How? _When_?"

"Last night, before you could destroy it. I assume that was what that _very_ hot fire was for? The weather has been very pleasant this week." Zorro spoke mildly, as though it were a conversation in a drawing room. "Here - no skip this page. Yes, right here. Read."

"To all those who served me so well over the years, I hereby make them freeholders. Their homes are theirs along with two acres of land each." This was followed by a list of names. When Don Emilio's voice dropped too low, Zorro shook him.

He made him read all the gifts, too: the horse for the little boy, a hundred head of cattle each for all three of the house servants, a pearl handled knife and two race horses from the stable for the ranch foreman, dowries for both of the daughters, the house in town for his wife for the duration of her life so that she would never feel dependent on her children.

When he finished, Don Emilio looked broken and shamed.

Zorro sighed and rose and took the crumpled pages to Don Roberto. "It doesn't have to be ugly," Zorro said. "You could be a great man, a leader in this community. The Pascal estate is an awesome responsibility. Govern it with generosity and there is nothing your good people will not do for you."

"Go to hell." He said it softly that Felipe had to lip read it.

Zorro whistled for Toronado and mounted while the stallion was still on the move. He didn't look back. He didn't look worried. He was gone in a flash of hooves and a little dust.

Felipe looked at Diego. Diego was - very obviously - not smiling. "Sergeant! He's getting away!"

Mendoza sputtered. "Even if I caught him - I mean, even with a company of lancers - " He shut his mouth. "Anyway, someone must stay here and take statements from the witnesses."

"Well, if you want statements, wouldn't it be more comfortable to do that at the tavern," Diego asked innocently. "But, you know, I think...there was no crime committed here. The duel was a fair fight and no one was hurt. And a public reading of a will, is there any reason to talk about that, as long as the terms are respected."

Victoria gave Diego an odd look, but said, "It's been such a pleasant morning. Why don't you all come back to the tavern for a snack? Don Roberto? We rarely see you in town these days. It would be very nice..." She did not even once glance in Don Emilio's direction.

Mendoza seemed very happy to be offered the distraction of food and an excuse not to begin a pointless pursuit of Zorro on his day off. Don Roberto Segovia was very polite and pleasant and also did not look in Don Emilio's direction. Diego slipped back to have a quick word with old Rodero before gathering the party and herding them toward town.

When they were out of sight of the poor little house, Victoria leaned over to Diego and whispered, "I don't know why you want to keep this quiet - "

"The more we shame him, the less he has to lose, and the more incentive he has to seek revenge. The sensible thing, of course, would be to accept defeat and move forward, but Emilio has always had contempt for _sense_."

"But, Diego, he _should _be punished."

"He has not succeeded in committing a crime. And the knowledge that pursuing matters will only lead to more embarrassment might keep him in check. It is the only thing I can think of that _might_, short of killing him."

Victoria gave him a very odd look and muttered something before riding up to speak with Mendoza. Felipe asked Diego - who was laughing so heard he had to hold on to the saddle horn - "What did she say?"

Diego collected himself and answered, "She said I think too much and it is a little bit scary."

Oh. Well. _That_ wasn't news.

~END


End file.
